


The Red Thorns

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Novel, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-17
Updated: 2010-07-07
Packaged: 2019-01-19 02:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12401109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: In Rose's last year at Hogwarts, a Four Founders Tournament is being held, which questions everything she knows about herself and others. But to win, she has to win over Scorpius Malfoy by making him fall for her... and try not to fall for him in the process.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

  


_**It's the last year at Hogwart's, and despite Rose being faced with the Head Girl position, as well as the Head Boy who happens to be Scorpius Malfoy, she's must face something much worse. This year a tournament is taking place at Hogwarts, between all four of the houses, meant to bring out the qualities of each house in each of the four champions. But the tasks aren't fire-breathing dragons and spells of the most evil kind. They're something much worse. Rose must battle her way through four tasks that question her deepest fears and desires, her greatest loyalties and bonds, and her ability to see the truth through all the deception. And above all, she must win over the one thing that is in her way: Scorpius Malfoy. She must manipulate him into weakness by making him fall for her, and try with all her heart not to fall for him in the process.** _

**Finally, this story is complete! It's been a long, long time spent writing this. The entire story is nearly done (all 100,000 words of it) so I will be updating regularly and with little delay. For now, here's the full summary and list of characters that are mostly OC, including teachers and the classes they have with Rose.**

**Scorpius Malfoy—Rose's enemy, Head Boy, son of Draco Malfoy**

**Caroline—Rose's friend, blonde, dityzy, but very caring and kind. Loves boys.**

**Pamela Patil—Rose's best girl friend, daughter of Pavarti Patil, stunning looks.**

**Albus Potter—In Rose's year, best guy friend. Son of Harry and Ginny.**

**Lorcan Scamander—Luna and Rolf Scamander's son, Rose's lifelong companion and absolute best friend.**

**Professor Huggins—Arithmacy (Gryffindor)**

**Professor Longbottom—Gryffindor Head, Herbology teacher (Hufflepuff Gryffindor)**

**Professor Tremblay—Potions man (Gryffindor and Slytherin)**

**Professor Haas—Transfiguration (all houses)**

**Professor McGonagall—Headmistress**

**Professor Hagrid—Care of Magical Creatures not taken**

**Professor Woldells— Muggle Studies Hufflepuff Head (Gryffindor and Hufflepuff)**

**Professor Zenobia—Astrology Teacher (All houses)**

**Professor Trelawny—Divination Teacher not taken**

**Prentice—Hufflepuff Prefect 7** **th** **Year**

**Professor Ramsey—Charms (animangus raven) Ravenclaw Head(Ravenclaw and Gryffindor)**

**Evan Longbottom—Pamela's crush. Brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin, tall.**

**Margery—Plain girl with a huge crush on Lorcan**

**And now, without further ado, I give you:**

_ **The Beginning** _

_I won't waste time_ _trying to figure out why you're playing games, what's this all about_ _And I can't believe,_

_This is my heart bleeding before you_ _This is me down on my knees._ _This pretense of words we play_

_is slowly killing me._

_But I guess we're all the same,_

_because, really,_

_which one of us is the_

_better pretender?_

_So,_

_Let us dance while I melt in your hands_

_Forget what we thought before_

_After all, you wouldn't want to miss_ _this part, where my_ _self-restraint unravels and the facade falls away_

_Where my lower lip between your teeth and the smoke on your breath is sweet enough to swallow_

_But I guess that was all just make-believe_

**XX**

"Dad."

"—and it's not like it really mattered, but honestly, the nerve of him! I've never, in my whole career, come across someone so infuriating—"

"Dad."

"—but that's just Boot for you, I suppose."

"Dad."

"And he never even asked my opinion, either! It's just,' okay, Weasley, go do this and then that—"

"Dad!"

"—but no, there's no asking how I feel about it, it's just him."

"Ron, you're daughter is trying to get your attention," my mother finally cut in. I sigh exasperatedly, annoyed that _she_ was the only one he would stop blathering for.

"Oh, right. Sorry Rosie," he says, turning in his seat to look at me. I am almost pressed against him, as I have been standing behind him trying to get his attention for the last five minutes. He doesn't seem to notice, so I begin.

"I got my letter."

For a fleeting moment, there is something in his eyes that betrays his usual "Oh, great, we'll go to Diagon Alley tomorrow" speech. He knows. Or, he doesn't exactly know, but his eyes betray the _hope_ that he's right. That I, the first in all the Potters and Weasleys, will be—

"Ask me what's inside it."

Okay, now he knows. His eyes light up, but he plays along. At this point, my mother finally turns away from nursing her tea to look at us. Apparently, the discussion only just got interesting enough for her. My Dad doesn't notice. "What's in it, Rosie?"

For a moment, I picture what they would do to me if I just showed them a Quidditch Captain badge. Obviously, for what it's worth, they would be very proud…. Well, Dad would be proud, anyways. But Mum would be very near tears if I told her that little _Rosie_ wasn't good enough to be Head Girl. I could just picture her writing to Headmistress McGonagall, demanding to know if she was right in the head, because obviously, anyone sane would give her precious daughter the position of—

I show them the badge, and their reactions are instantaneous. Dad jumps up from his seat in surprise (even though, I'm sure, he knew what was coming) and reaches to grab the badge from my outstretched hand, but Mum beats him to it. She yanks it from me so hard that, had I been holding it any harder, it would have cut through my finger.

"Rose! This is amazing! You're the first in the family!"

"Well, besides Percy, but he's not what you would call 'family.'"

"And Bill, too, now that I think of it…. But I mean, Harry, Ron, Ginny or I never got it, so really, you'll be the first!"

"Well, that may have been because we were off saving the world, Hermione, because I'm sure you would have gotten it if you had stayed…."

"Ron, don't kill the moment."

I probably could have walked from the room and they wouldn't have noticed. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the badge they were holding between them. It was now their precious little 'Badgie-Wadgie', and Rosie-Posie was all but forgotten….

But, fairly quickly, the discussion turns back to me, and hugs go around and congratulations are given to the rightful person. Badgie lays forgotten on the table. I secretly decide to polish him later, so to rub off all the grubby fingerprints of my parents.

"Oh, we have to call Harry and Ginny, they'll be thrilled!" my Mum chimes.

"Do you think Al got head boy?" I ask hopefully.

"Oh, no, Rosie, Head Boy and Girl are always in separate houses."

My happy mood immediately leaves me. Most of all, I was looking forward to sharing a large, roomie dormitory with one of my close friends. If Al couldn't share it with me, I don't really see who else could make it worthwhile.

"Oh!" I say, remembering something. "How about Lorcan? He's in Ravenclaw, he might be Head Boy! He was a prefect! He's a shoe-in to get it!"

"Lorcan?" my Dad asks, watching Mum frantically searching for the floo powder. "Luna's son?"

I nod excitedly, ignoring his ignorance. Lorcan's been over nearly every day this summer! How could he not know who he was?

"Hmm…. Well, I suppose he could, but I don't see McGonagall putting you two together. You guys are already best friends. It's unfortunate, but most headmasters don't often put friends together. It's usually enemies who end up together…."

Everything is negative so far, but I refuse to give up hope. "Why would that be? They'd just kill each other, wouldn't they?"

Dad laughs. "Yeah, so you would think. But in my experiences with Head Boy and Girl, it's usually to unite the enemies. Most end up dating, and marrying when they leave school."

My Dad immediately blanches at the thought. His Rosie-Posie, dating a boy whom she shares a room with? Possibly snogging? Possibly shagging? Oh, no, no, no, no.

"Well," he says, his ears reddening, "just promise me that if Malfoy's kid is Head Boy, you won't end up….you know…doing stuff."

I cringe. I would hate it if he was Head Boy.

"Rose and Scorpius shagging?" comes a voice. Hugo's just woke up. "I can't imagine what they babies would look like."

"Hugo!" Mum is peeved. "Just because two people…well…do things, doesn't mean proper precautions can't be taken to…prevent such happenings."

Hugo and I both fall to the floor in hysterics. We're nearly crying by the time Hugo manages to gasp, "Please….Mum, not this again! I…I…I couldn't take another lecture on…wands and witches!"

It's nearly ten minutes before Hugo and I manage to pick ourselves up off the floor, and by that time Mum has already told Harry and Ginny the news, and confirmed that neither Al nor Lorcan got a Head Boy badge (as Lorcan seems to be at the Potter house for the weekend.) Hugo is still hiccupping when Mum pulls her wand out and forces an apple to fly into his mouth. This makes me laugh, and Mum has to point her wand threateningly at the fruit bowl to make me shut-up.

"Well, Harry and Ginny have agreed to go down to Diagon Alley with us tomorrow. There isn't much we need, but it will be nice to pay George and Angelina a visit. They just sent you two a late Christmas present," she points to me and Hugo, "which was very, very generous of them, one hundred Galleons each, I still can't believe it…."

" _WHAT?"_ Hugo and I shout. Both of us are speechless.

"What? Didn't I tell you?" Mum says, surprised.

"No, Mum, you didn't bother to tell us that we have both just become the richest kids in Hogwarts, thanks," says Hugo dryly.

"Well, it's not pocket money, Hugo. I put it in an account for each of you for when you're out of school. I'll daresay it will be helpful when you're looking for a job."

"But you and Dad are filthy rich! What do we need money for?" I cut in.

Mum gives us _that_ look. "Your father and I aren't going to be supporting you when you can get a job of your own. You'll have to make your own money."

"What are you going to do with the thousands of Galleons you have now?" I say.

"Well, your mother and I will be doing some traveling once we don't have you two to drag us down," Dad says, turning around holding a cup of coffee. "And once we die, you two will split our lovely fortune."

There's a moment of silence, filled only with Dad sipping his coffee noisily, before Hugo says quietly to me, "Well, how do you reckon we can get Mum and Dad to snuff it early?"

Most unfortunately, Mum overhears his comment, and sends him straight up to his room without breakfast. Laughing heartily, I head up myself, grabbing some toast and a pack of Exploding Snap from my room before sneaking into Hugo's.

We play a few games and eat our toast well into the evening, only going down for lunch and dinner, and it's only when I crawl into bed do I realize that my Head Girl badge is down on the kitchen counter, forgotten.

XX

The next morning dawned bright and early for all of us. Mum and Dad both claimed that if you got to Diagon Alley really early, you could avoid the worst of the traffic. Mum and Dad said that they just didn't like the lines in the shops (they were rarely that long) but I figured that they, plus Uncle Harry, just didn't like being gawked at by the afternoon crowd, which consisted mostly of young kids and teens.

Too tired to put much of an effort into my appearance, I decide on jeans and a blue shirt, not bothering to do much else besides brush my hair (in vain, of course). I'm downstairs in a record three minutes time, and I see Mum shouting at Hugo through the door to get out of bed.

Dad is downstairs, laughing at Mum's attempts to wake up Hugo. I start giggling too, but when he sees me, his laugh turns to a smile.

"How's my Head Girl this morning?"

"Oh, please Dad, don't start calling me that for the rest of my life, I'm begging you!"

"Nah, I won't…. Just today. Just so I can gloat. Please?"

I give him a look worthy of Mum, but he doesn't flinch. He puts his hands together, under his chin, begging me. I snort.

"Dad…. You gloated about my prefect badge to just about everyone who would stand still long enough, and I didn't even say a word!"

"Yeah, but this is different! James never got Head Boy, and neither did Al this year! I just have to rub it in Harry's face! Please, Rosie?"

"Just to Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny," I say grudgingly, right as I hear Mum storming downstairs.

"I swear, if I let that boy, he would sleep into the next century," she huffs, handing out scarves and mittens. I take mine with a wince; they're the color of blue that my Mum always fawns over, how perfectly it matches my eyes. "How on earth does he manage to get to class in the mornings?"

I snigger as I recall all of the red-eyed-Hugo's I've encountered in my past years, all grumpy and snappy. "Well, Al snuck up there the first year he was at Hogwart's. Charmed his alarm clock to beat him over the heat with his pillow to wake him up. I still don't know how he did it, because Hugo can't figure out how to turn it off."

Both my parents laugh as Hugo comes moping down the stairs, his hair messy beyond belief and still in his pajama pants. Mum gapes at him, preparing to yell, but Hugo cuts in, saying, "I brushed my teeth, though."

I laugh, but Mum sends him back up to change and brush his hair. Ten minutes later (seven minutes longer than me, I note with pride) Hugo is back down in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, with a baseball cap covering his messy hair. Mum doesn't seem to have the patience to send him back up again.

"Rose, you go first. You and Hugo can wander over to Wizard Wheezes, your Dad and I will get your supplies," Mum says.

"Gee, thanks, Mum," I say, surprised at her offer. Usually, I'm expected to get everything myself.

"Don't get used to it," Dad says, handing me the floo powder. I take a handful and step into the fireplace. A few uncomfortable Muments later, I stumble out into the flat above Wizard Wheezes. Hugo comes behind me, looking thoroughly tired, and shuffles ahead to the stairs that lead below.

Down in the shop, it is eerily empty, as they haven't opened yet. George and Angelina are unpacking and straightening up, and neither seem to notice us enter.

"And to what do we owe the early pleasure?" says a voice, and a young image of George appears from behind an aisle. It's Fred, and he looks pleased to see Hugo in such horrible condition. "Gee, couz, you think you'd freshen up a little bit for me. Looking like a douche doesn't really suite you."

"Early pleasure, my ass," Hugo says, stifling a yawn. "And I don't suppose looking like a business man is a new fashion statement, either."

Fred is, in fact, dressed in WWW robes, complete with dragon skin boots. He does a little twirl and struts. "You like it, do you?"

We all laugh, and only then does Aunt Angelina notice our arrival. She runs over and hugs us tightly, telling us both that we've grown, that we're so lovely now, etc. It's normal family talk, and Hugo and I just nod and smile while taking turns hugging her. Uncle George comes over, but fortunately, he doesn't say anything about our growth. He mentions my 'ugly' scarf and gloves (which he knows I hate), and hands me a new pair. However, when I put them on, my hands disappear.

Al, James, and Lily arrive twenty minutes later, right as the shop is about to open. Al grew about a foot since the last time I saw him, and James seems to have gotten more muscular. He flexes for us, and we all laugh when Lily hits him over the head with her book. Lily has also grown, but in a different way. Her hair is longer, and unless I'm much mistaken, she has gotten considerably more beautiful, which is saying a lot. I tell her that she should apply for a job as a model for Witch Weekly. She laughs.

"Where's Uncle Harry?" Hugo asks, at the same time that I ask where Aunt Ginny's at.

"They're both out shopping for Al and Lily," James answers, still flexing, but now with a few wary glances at his sister.

"That's really weird," I say, frowning. "Mum and Dad are both shopping for us, too."

"I wonder what for…" says Lily. "They always make us do it ourselves."

"Maybe they're afraid we'll spend the 100 Galleons that Uncle George gave us," Hugo says, followed by roars of outrage from everyone.

"Mum told us the same thing!" Al yells.

"She said it was for when we get out of school!" yells Lily.

"Yeah, Hugo and I reckon we should make Mum and Dad snuff it to get their money," I say.

Everyone laughs, including Uncle George, who has just come down from upstairs. Trying to look serious, and failing miserably, he says, "Well, now, where would you be without your parents, Rose?"

"I'd be about 100,000 Galleons richer is where I'd be," I say.

It takes a couple of minutes for everyone to stop laughing hysterically. This is something I love about my family. No matter how you say it, no matter what you say, there is still happiness and laughter in the air. There is not a quiet or awkward moment with them.

"Hey Rosie, what's this I hear about being Head Girl, huh?" Uncle George says. I try to silently shush him before anyone hears, gliding my hand across my throat to signal to him, but he pays no attention. The affect is instantaneous. Everyone is shunned to silence, staring at me with wide eyes.

"Oh! So that's what Mum and Dad were kissing last night!" Hugo says, followed by laughter. "I thought that was a bit weird, kissing your badge, Rosie."

"I don't believe it," says James in outrage. "I wasn't even Head Boy! Neither was Al! How is it that a Potter can't get a position of highest honor?"

"Well, it might be because you and Al are so much trouble you practically live in detention," Lily says. "Or that the headmaster has had enough of the Potter's for a lifetime."

"There are more Weasley's than us! She should be sick of them!" says Al.

"Yeah, but the Potter's cause more trouble than all the Weasleys put together."

The discussion continues for a good ten minutes, filled with much laughter and cries of outrage. It's fun to watch, even if I haven't even said a word about my position as Head Girl. I'm almost ashamed of it by the time everyone is finished abusing it. After all, I'm almost shunning the name of Weasley and Potter. Everyone in my family is a troublemaker, and it seems that there are few people who really appreciate my position as a responsible girl. I try to push the thought from my head, promising all the while that I will not be a pompous prat for Head Girl, and that I will at least get five good detentions this year. That will shut everyone up about it. Or, I can just give them all detention for making fun of it. That'll probably work to the same effect.

The rest of the day goes as smoothly as is possible with three Potters, four Weasleys, two Lovegoods (who join us halfway through the day), as well as three nameless extras, all having some sort of connection to one of us. It's nice to see everyone again, although as always, it's a bit overwhelming. I eventually wander off with Al and Lorcan to go hang out at Flourine's. We eat our way through three sundaes, laughing and talking about the previous year, which was easily the most challenging, academically and otherwise. Lorcan had a record five girlfriends last year, all of which dumped him because he was so odd. Albeit him being odd, the girls kept coming because he was so good-looking. Al only dated two girls, the second of which was one of Lorcan's exes, whom he was now quite serious with and who was one of my best friends. I dated three boys, all of whom I never got along with because they didn't do anything but gawk at me while I did other, more productive things. Al and Lorcan both held this against me, and probably would until the day I died; they claimed I was just too good looking for my own good.

To be fair, I told them I had the personality of a dull knife. They laughed at this and tried to deny it, but even they cannot ignore how boring I am.

"Ah, Rosie, you just don't get it, do you?" Al would say whenever I told him this. "Boys don't give a damn about your personality. They're too busy staring at your chest."

I was exceptionally glad that most of my friends were girls, and my two best friends were both (nearly) family. At least I didn't have to worry about _them_ staring at my chest. I never got along with many boys, besides Al and Lorcan and…well…the rest of my never-ending family.

We leave Flourine's with a satisfied sweet tooth about an hour later. Assuming it is well after noon, we wander the shops and said hello to friends. I buy three new books at Flourish and Blotts, and afterwards we head to Wizard Wheezes to stock up on Daydream Charms and talk to George and Angelina before departing.

Back out on the street, I see my Mum talking to Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny outside the shop. I walk up behind her, Al and Lorcan tailing me, and see that she is holding something covered in a brown blanket.

"Rose!" she says, jumping when I put my hand on her shoulder.

"You're acting like you committed a crime, Mum," I say, glaring at the brown blanket. "What's that?"

"Um…" she says, looking to Harry and Ginny for support. "Well, it was supposed to wait till later, but I suppose you can see it now."

She sighs as she grasps the brown blanket, pulling it off to reveal a cage, and within it….

"Oh, Mum!" I squeal. "He's beautiful!"

Inside the cage is perhaps the most striking owl I've ever seen. He has golden plumage surrounding his white face, with black around his eyes and on the outline of his face. His white chest is covered in golden brown spots that glitter as he moves around in his cage. His wings are also gold, but are highlighted with brown and black feathers. He looks so handsome; all I can do is stare breathlessly.

"Wow, Rose," says Lorcan suddenly. "He looks more like a phoenix than an owl. What breed is he, Mrs. Weasley?"

"He's a common barn own, actually," my Mum says, eyeing the bird with a smile. "The shop keeper said he was imported from America, actually. They only bought three, but the other two weren't nearly as pretty as this one. I had to offer a fair amount of gold for him, but the shop keeper reluctantly handed him over in the end."

"Wow, Mum," I say, still breathless. "Thank you so much! I've always wanted an owl…."

In truth, I had never really given much thought of getting one before, as I usually just borrow Hugo's or Al's. But now, seeing this one, I don't think I could have thought of anything better….

"Well, I had to get you something nice," Mum says, "you are Head Girl, after all."

"What should I name him?" I turn to Al and Rory, knowing that Mum will probably offer something strange and exotic.

"Well," she says anyways, ignoring that my back is to her, "the shop keeper didn't name him. She just said that he came from a place near a town called Paso Robles. I thought Robles would be a nice name."

I turn back to her. Truthfully, I do think Robles would be a nice name. But for some reason, I don't really want to give Mum the satisfaction of naming the owl.

I ask for an opinion from Rory and Al. Al likes Robles, but Lorcan suggests I name him 'Sir Kingston of Paso Robles the Owl'. I laugh, and decide on a name.

"I think I'll name him 'Rabbles'." I don't want to defy my Mum the chance of getting her say, so I settle on a name relatively close to Robles. Even though Rabbles is kind of silly, I think it suits the owl, who is now hooting happily in his cage.

Not a minute later, Lily, James, Fred, Roxanne, and Lysander. Lily and Roxanne begin cooing over Rabbles while everyone else admires him with envy. I'm happily enjoying their jealous faces when Al interrupts.

"So, why were you and my Mum and Dad shopping for us, Aunt Hermione?" he asks.

My Mum smiles smugly. "Oh, you'll see when you get to Hogwarts. It's a big surprise…. Well, I expect it'll be a big surprise to Rose, anyways."

"Why me?" I ask indignantly.

"Because I expect James will spill the beans to Al and Lily before they get there…. And Hugo isn't old enough for it, so it won't matter, anyways."

There are cries of outrage at this comment, followed by James smiling smugly and Hugo shrugging.

"What is it? What are we doing this year?" Al asks excitedly.

"Oh, you'll see," says James. "It's not that big of a deal…."

"Oh, yes it is," Mum says, "James is just jealous that he's not there this year. It will be very, very exciting."

"Oh, yeah, I'm real sad that I won't be getting my head ripped off by some monster," says an annoyed James, earning a punch in the arm by every adult in the vicinity.

" _WHAT?"_

XX

**Thank you so much to my AMAZING editor and friend, Kimberley (** **xakemii)** **who has been a big help!**

**I will continue to update frequently. About every week or so, or if I'm in a good mood then more. I'm so happy to finally have this story up!**

**Reviews are welcome!**

**Chloe**


	2. Chapter Two

The next few weeks pass too quickly for my liking, yet they come and go gloriously. My entire family, all the Weasleys and Potters, seem glued together by the seam for a while. Not one is seen without the other. There are games of quidditch well into the night, pranks and jokes passed around throughout the day (courtesy of mostly Hugo and Fred), as well as last minute firewhiskey passed around from hand to hand, no matter the age.

Two days before we are to board the Hogwarts Express, there comes a knock at the door.

Everyone is at the Potter household for the last few days before vacation ends, owing to the fact that they had, by far, the nicest house. It's very large, with fourteen rooms, seven of which were bedrooms and four that were bathrooms. The entire house is homey and smelled of a mixture of flowery things and damp earth. The living room is a rich oak in color, with red drapes and accents, which looks beautiful in sunrise (as most of the house had very large windows in the rooms). The kitchen and dining room are both made of a reddish wood, with pictures and portraits of various family members and important people, all of whom smiled down at you when you walked past them. Uncle Harry refused to have a sad picture anywhere, or one that made noise, due to some sort of childhood phobia that seemed to apply to my Mum and Dad as well.

When the knock resounds through the house, everyone seems much too busy to notice it, so I get up reluctantly to open it, my book under my arm. I rub my eyes wearily as the door opens. A hand grabs my arm and pulls me out before anyone notices, and I give a little squeak of surprise. Outside is my cousin Victoire, along with Teddy Lupin, and in his arms is a little blonde-haired bundle….

I just about faint. I end up dropping my book as I shake my head in disbelief. Inside the arms of Teddy is just about the most beautiful baby I have ever seen in my life. She has giant blue eyes the size of eggs, with long dark eyelashes despite her blonde hair. Her skin is tanned, thanks to Teddy, and she squeezes her mother's finger as she looks up at me. I just about jump in delight.

"Oh — my God!" I manage to choke out. Tears are in my eyes.

"Rosie, oh my goodness, I just had her a week ago, but I didn't want to tell anyone, I wanted her all to myself—" Victoire blurts out. I remember how her belly had looked slightly swollen the last I saw her, which was a few weeks ago, so she must have been using magic to hide the baby bump for quite some time.

"She wouldn't even let me hold her," interrupts Teddy.

"She's just so, so, so beautiful, my goodness, Rosie, just be gentle, ok?" And without further ado, Victoire places the bundle into my arms with the most careful movements. "Her name's Nymphadora."

But the rest of her words seem to escape me. There is something about holding another life in your arms, so warm and soft that it's almost painful. It's the most wonderful feeling in the world, and at this moment I would give anything to just sit and hold her forever. She grabs my red curls, bringing it so close to her face she is almost cross-eyed as she stares at it. Her touch is even gentler than her mother's, and I can't help but imagine this baby with the red curls she is currently holding, with blue eyes just like that but bluer, like the sky, and skin just the same, fingers just the same…..

"We want you to be her godmother, Rose," Teddy says, with what seems like a strangled voice.

Real tears begin to leak down my face. One of them lands on little Dora's hand, and she blinks in surprise. "I…I don't know what to say."

"Just say yes, Rosie," says Victoire, her eyes lovingly locked on Dora.

"I—yes," I say quickly. "But why me?"

I can't help it. With an entire family of Weasleys and Potters, why me? I'm nothing special. I'm no more important than Lily or Fred's sister or even Al. I can't help but feel a little angry that they would single me out, like a favorite, when Lily would kill for something like this. All the same, I feel a furious pride at the thought of being almost like a mother to this little girl, getting to watch her closely, take care of her whenever, play with her and spoil her, just like my own child….

"It's not because you're our favorite," Teddy says, seeming to read my mind, something akin to laughter in his voice. Before he can continue, Victoire interrupts him.

"It's because you looked just like this when you were little, Rose," Victoire says, finally looking up at me.

"We saw you in her the moment she came into this world," Teddy says. "We knew she would be just like you."

"But with blonde hair," I say, laughing a little.

"Yeah," Victoire says breathlessly.

I stare down at little Dora, thinking that I would like nothing more than to be the godmother of this child.

"You can show the others," says Teddy. "We're going to apparate to Molly's and tell her the news. She'll probably come storming in here in a few minutes time, demanding to see the baby I haven't even touched yet."

I laugh gently, so not to disturb Dora. I turn away from them as they turn away to apparate. I silently wonder how long it will take everyone to notice that I have a baby in my arms.

I open and close the front door as quietly as I can. It seems everyone was too busy to even notice I had left. I walk quietly over to my armchair, ignoring my dropped book by the front door. I sit down, trying as hard as I can not to laugh as I watch Uncle Harry, Uncle George, Al, Lily, Hugo, James, Roxanne and Fred all playing a rousing game of Exploding Snap. My Mum, Aunt Ginny and Aunt Angelina are all in the kitchen peeling potatoes with magic while talking happily about something I can't hear over the noise.

Suddenly, Dora rustles in my arms, emitting a soft 'coo' sound. This sound, however quiet, seems to slap everyone into immediate silence. Everyone within twenty yards of myself all turn in my direction. I quickly adjust Dora so that everyone can see her face.

It takes a total of three seconds for anyone to move. Everyone reacts the same: they all stand up, rush forward as fast as lighting, and are in a circle around me so fast it must have been magic.

Dora, not used to seeing so many people, makes a noise that sounds like discomfort, and I hug her close to me as everyone begins whispering questions avidly. I want to laugh, but my throat is so constricted with emotion that I just manage to grunt.

"Rose!" is the word that most people say at first. My mother, however, along with most of the adults, are speechless.

Lily spontaneously asks, "Did you get her on the doorstep, Rosie?"

I laugh. "No, Lily, she's Victoire and Teddy's."

Everyone sighs softly. This, whatever I was expecting, was not the reaction I anticipated.

"Where did they run off to?" Aunt Ginny asks.

"Did they abandon her?" Lily asks excitedly. "I'll be her Mum, if she is an orphan."

Everyone laughs at this but me. I cannot think of how anyone could possibly abandon a baby as wonderful as this one. "No," I say quickly, completely serious. "They wanted to go tell Grandma. They gave her to me, because -"

However much I would have liked to see Lily's envious face, and everyone's adoring eyes, I knew that telling them I was appointed this baby's godmother would not be a smart idea.

"- I answered the door, and they wanted to leave quickly."

No one seems phased by my quick change in speech, and no sooner had I said the words, the door bangs open, and in run Grandma in just her dressing gown and a traveling cloak. Teddy and Victoire enter afterwards, and almost everyone immediately rushes to congratulate them.

"Oh my goodness," Grandma says, falling to her knees beside my chair. Dora looks curiously at the kind-faced woman.

Grandma gasps when Dora looks at her. My mum, who was the only one who didn't go to Teddy and Victoire, looks at Grandma with knowing eyes.

"She looks exactly like Rose," Grandma says, tears in her eyes. She looks up at me with a smile. I try to smile back at her, trying to keep my tears in check.

"That's exactly what I thought," my Mum says. She's smiling at me, too, and suddenly, so is Dora.

"That's why she's Dora's godmother."

Victoire has come to collect her baby.

The reaction is instantaneous. I search out Lily's face, and she is indignant. " _Godmother?"_

The younger half of the crowd says the same as Lily. The adults, however, say with the same inflection, " _Dora?_ "

"We named her Nymphadora Delacour Lupin," says Victoire with bated breath.

There is uproar of conversation, mostly with the adults, while everyone else watches with wide eyes. I, however, look down longingly at Dora. I can see my reflection in her eyes, and though it seems to me that I bare little to resemblance to her, I can't help but take the words of adoration from Grandma and Mum to heart. Do I really, truly look like this beautiful baby in my arms?

It's too soon when I have to let little Dora go. I feel almost empty when she leaves my arms, as if a part of my own body has left my chest and arms cold and empty. I try to hold back tears as I realize that it might be a whole year before I can see Dora again. I kiss her small outstretched hand as she is taken by Grandma, with practiced arms, and walked out the door with the mother and father in tow.

Dora seems to be thinking along the same lines as me, I think sadly. The big blue eyes only leave mine when she is gone out the door. I sit on the lone couch, thinking, watching as people come and leave the house. Sometime near midnight Lorcan comes and squeezes in next to me, and as alert as I feel, I can't help but drift off and fall asleep on his warm shoulder.

I can't help but dream that night, about what my own child would look like.

The dreams end and begin with a faceless husband, with the same blonde hair and blue eyes as Dora. In the middle, and in the middle of my husband, and me time seems to stop as I hold the fire-hot figure in my arms that slowly melt into water. As the dream draws to a reluctant close, the baby's hair turns slowly to long red curls, and I lovingly watch my reflection in her icy-blue eyes.

XX

The day we are to leave to Hogwarts I wake up to blinding sunshine. It's highly unusual, and for a moment I wonder if I am dreaming still. But the heat that prickles along my face and neck, so silently and wonderfully, is so real I almost think about just skipping the whole year to lay here forever. My arms are wrapped tightly around my pillow, as they have been since I met Dora, as if holding her in a loving embrace. I have dreams of her each night. The same one… every night…

If I could only stay here forever, to sit and simmer in this moment. To dream of Dora, of the faceless, loving husband in my dreams, and to wake to the sun. I know it's too good to last. I sit for a while, trying to imprint this memory is my head forever, to burn it there like the sun is burning me.

I eventually force myself out of bed, my body practically groaning in protest. I shuffle over to my packed trunk, extracting a brown muggle shirt and jeans. I try to brush my hair with a brush, but it's so tangled I have to use magic. It leaves it shiny, bouncing in soft waves as I walk in front of the mirror.

As I run a brush through my hair, which is now manageable, I begin to wonder about the year ahead. Surely, it will be enjoyable. It's my last year and I'm at the top of the school. After this, its freedom I will be breathing. Even if I have to share a common room with someone despicable, at least I can look forward to the end of everything. I think that might keep me going.

My thoughts wander to the position of Head Boy. There were eight prefects last year, and one of them has ended up head boy. Since neither Al nor Lorcan got the position that leaves Slytherin and Hufflepuff. I wouldn't mind sharing the room with a Hufflepuff, as they are generally mild and kind, but a Slytherin. I shudder at the though.

I don't think I will be able live if I am paired up with a Slytherin. Especially Scorpius, who I've had a mutual hatred with for years. No matter how hard some people tried, nothing could change the way we felt about each other, not even a year in the same room together.

My hair is now nothing but smooth waves now. I've become so lost in thought; I can't even begin doing anything else before I hear "ROSE! Get down here, now!'" shouted from downstairs.

Taking one last glance around my room to check if I forgot anything, I grab my trunk and Rabbles and levitate both downstairs. Both parents are waiting below, along with a tired Hugo, all in relatively light clothes.

"What, no snow gear?" I ask.

"No, Rose," my Mum says seriously, "It's warm outside."

"Yeah, I noticed."

Everyone seems to be in a bad mood. As we head out the door, my Mum starts berating Dad for not tidying up the car for the trip. In truth, the car isn't horribly filthy, but I rather think Mum is more upset that he didn't wake everyone up earlier. Hugo falls asleep the moment we are on the road heading to King's Cross. I try to, but my mind is whizzing with excitement, and sleep is beyond me.

The excitement buzzes through me like adrenaline, and I can hardly stand the long car ride to the station. I'm Head Girl! I have power above all the students, all the prefects, all of the kids in my year. I get my own dorm, with a giant common room, a giant bathroom, a giant bed, all to myself. But who's Head Boy? Is it Scorpius or Prentice? It's not long before my excitement widdles itself down to worry. I'm going to be spending the entire year cooped up with one of them, the former of which I don't even like or tolerate. And if my suspicions are correct, if the Headmaster really does put people together to get over a childhood hate, or bring people closer together, then the only possibility has to be —

"Rose, you have to write as soon as you find out who Head Boy is, okay?" Dad interrupts my thoughts.

"Yes, yes, of course," I say distractedly.

In a little more than an hour we arrive. The commotion that ensues doesn't allow me to concentrate on anything besides getting onto platform 9 and ¾. People are practically skating around each other. I always found the frantic movements to be entertaining.

My parents tell Hugo and me that they have to head off to work, and to say hi to whomever might be waiting for us. I hug them both tightly, lingering just long enough to say an 'I love you' to each of them. Hugo and I push our trolleys towards the barrier, bracing for the impact that doesn't come. Rabbles hoots indignantly as we approach the barrier, and I'm sure he is completely outraged that we are charging directly at a solid wall.

As soon as I'm past the barrier, I am bombarded by at least a dozen people, most of which are family.

"Oh, Rose, look who's here!"

"Geez, Rose, she must really like you, she's going crazy."

"She's looking everywhere for you, Victoire said she could barely contain her."

"What are you guys talking about?" I ask, suddenly suspicious.

"Victoire and Teddy brought Dora to say goodbye," Lily answers enviously.

She points to a couple near the train. True to her words, there are Victoire and Teddy, holding a wriggling white bundle of blankets. Passing students eye the bundle curiously, and Teddy's blue hair even more so, but I beat them all as I rush over to them. My trunk lays forgotten behind me, but I manage to take Rabbles along.

"Oh, Rosie, there you are!" says Victoire.

"Dora wanted to see you," says Teddy, handing me the little white bundle as I set down Rabbles.

"That's an understatement," says Victoire. I peel back the blanket from Dora's face, and as soon as she sees me, her wiggling stops and she lets out an excited squeal. Grabbing a lock of my hair, she settles back contentedly into my arms.

"Hi Dora," I say eagerly. Dora smiles at the hair she's holding.

"She was going nuts after she saw you, Rose," Teddy says. "She wouldn't stop her crying. We thought about just giving her to you, but mummy-dearest wouldn't hear it."

I laugh. A few people have stopped to stare curiously at me, and I swell with pride as they watch. Some seem torn between staring at the beautiful baby and the handsome owl. Dora seems to have noticed them as well.

"Rosie!" comes a voice from behind me. "Rosie, over here!"

I turn around to look into the crowd, and come face to face with Pamela Patil, one of my best girl friends. She flashes a smile at me and begins to say something. Her golden eyes suddenly fall to Dora, and widen to the size of dinner plates.

"Oh my gosh!" she gasps. "Rosie—is she—she's so pretty—whose is she? Oh, she's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen!"

I smile fondly at her. Pamela is rarely overzealous, as she knows to be calm, unlike most of the students in our year. She smiles kindly at Dora, waving slightly, although I can tell she wants desperately to pick her up and hug her.

"My cousin Victoire, and her husband Teddy," I say, stepping aside so I can introduce Pamela. Victoire and Teddy are recognizable as students from years ago; they were the prized couple of the school. Pamela congratulates them, not taking her eyes of off Dora.

The boarding whistle blows, and just as I'm about to hand Dora back to her dad, I see his gleaming blonde head in the crowd. Scorpius Malfoy, a look of upmost amusement on his face as he stares at Dora and me. I glare at him, and before I can check his chest for a badge, he jumps onto the train. I quickly kiss Dora on the forehead and jump onto the train behind Pamela, grabbing Rabbles from Teddy's outstretched arm. I keep my eyes locked on little struggling Dora. She is truly beautiful, lying there in the sunlight. Her little fist is thrown into the air as if she's reaching out, reaching for the red hair that isn't there. I sigh deeply as the train rounds the corner, missing her already.

I turn back to Pamela. She has patiently waited for me by the window, a knowing look on her face. I think she must know how I feel. I assume that Lily or Albus has gotten my trunk for me, and usher Pamela to begin looking for a compartment.

Before I get far, Pamela stops me. "Rosie," she says happily, "You're Head Girl!"

I give her a look of sarcasm, as I had written _several_ letters to her on the topic, but before I can express my concern for her sanity, she says again, "You're Head Girl! You have to go to the prefects compartment!"

I breathe an 'Oh!' before giving her Rabbles and turning around and heading for the front. I'm hoping against hope that my worst fear won't be confirmed.

XX

As soon as I'm close enough to see the compartment, my breathing begins to increase rapidly. I'm hyperventilating when I'm five feet away. My worst fears are coming close to being either confirmed or denied. I really hope it's the latter. I won't be able to, cannot, will not, sit down and take it if I have to share a dormitory with—

"Hullo, Rose."

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

I almost say 'No!' when I meet his eyes, but I bite my tongue. I will not let him get the best of me. I will not let him get to me at all.

"Hello, Malfoy," I say politely. I'm sure my eyes are giving me away, showing anger and revulsion as I try my hardest to put on a happy face. I'm trying, and very nearly failing, not to scream in outrage.

"Oh, don't pretend, Weasley," he says. As soon as formal hellos are said, we are both back on a last-name basis, and both are livid with hatred. "You can't believe that you hate this more than I do."

"So you are Head Boy, then?" I ask nonchalantly.

"Who else?" he says, examining his nails in such an egotistic fashion only he could pull it off.

"I can think of plenty of people who are better suited than _you,_ Malfoy."

"Oh, like your little boyfriend, Lorcan?"

"He'd be a much better suitor, but he's not my boyfriend. Not that it's any of your business."

"Well, seeing as we'll be living together for a year, I think whatever you _do_ is my business."

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

Already, the fire between us is crackling menacingly. Unfortunately, when we're trying to be friendly towards each other, it's much, much worse.

"Now, now, we can't have a temper in front of the ickle prefects, now. Wait until we get to _our_ dorm. Then you can blow up as much as you want."

"I _said,_ fuck off, Malfoy!"

"Miss Weasley!" comes a voice from behind me. I turn in shock to see Professor Haas standing in the doorway. "I expect better from you!"

Now, despite being angry at Malfoy, I am sincerely confused. Since when has Professor Haas been anything besides easygoing?

"From such an outstanding student," she says with a smile, "I expect a much better comeback than that."

I relax, giving her a warm smile and sitting down (to my chagrin) next to Scorpius.

Professor Haas was hired in my third year; since Professor McGonagall decided it was wise for her not to teach Transfiguration, since being Headmistress was already grueling. So, Professor Haas was hired as the next Transfiguration post and Head of Gryffindor. She is, by far, my all-time favorite teacher, and almost all of the students will agree. Rather than giving you detention for throwing a punch at someone, she talks severely to the person who didn't punch back. If you swear, she gives you a smile and says "That's the spirit! You're getting into the groove, now!" Most of the teachers find her amusing, but the stricter bunch wish that McGonagall will just kick her out and be done with it.

"Now," the Professor begins, looking at both Scorpius and me lightly, "I think you may have figured out by now that the two of you are to be this year's Head Boy and Girl."

We both nod grudgingly.

"Well, that's good, last year a girl didn't even know she was," she smiles and crinkles her nose. "Anyhow, it seems that however much I told the Headmistress that you two despised each other, she was dead set on keeping you together. So, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you don't get into any more fights than is normal for you two."

I snort, and Scorpius guffaws beside me. Scorpius and I not fighting, while living together, is like asking magnets not to be attracted to each other.

"Now, now," the Professor says. "You can't have that kind of attitude. Ripping each other's throats out is normal, I know, but as it'd be on my head if you two died in the middle of the night. I don't think the house elves would like very much to have to clean blood of the walls."

I laugh at this, even though Scorpius remains resolutely silent beside me. It's exactly the kind of thing we would do.

"Do I have your word, that no matter what is said or done, nothing harmful will happen between you two?" she asks, completely serious. "If you two try, you might even be able to become friends."

"Pfft," snorts Scorpius, "Yeah, and flobberworms will fly."

"Magic can do strange things," says Professor Haas, and her eyes twinkle strangely as she looks between Scorpius and me. "Just give me your word, will you?"

"We promise," we say.

"Good," Professor says happily, clasping her hands together. "Now that that's out of the way, let's move onto the boring stuff…."

She skims over the rules, which are much the same as the prefect rules, but with higher privileges and abilities. She skips most of the boring things, such as our responsibility to the school, etc; (this is one of the greatest things about Professor Haas; she falls asleep if it's too tedious as well). She tells us again not to kill each other, blah, blah, blah. Routine sort of things said by a not-so routine sort of woman.

I say goodbye to our Professor, blatantly ignoring Scorpius. She smiles back and waves me off. Scorpius glares daggers down my back and rushes me forward. Resisting the urge to do something vile to his perfect face, I make my way down the train, trying to find the compartment with my friends and owl in it.

XX

"So, who is it?"

"Is it who we think?"

"Is he a Slytherin?"

"Is he Prentice?"

I am immediately bombarded by questions regarding Head Boy as soon as I open the door to our compartment. Albus, Pamela, Lorcan, and Caroline (who was Al's current girlfriend, and one of my best friends) are currently residing there.

Now that I am not sitting still, trying to smile, or trying to be brave, I feel sick. I am no longer putting on a show for the teacher; I am no longer making promises that are almost impossible to keep. I am now faced with the true reality of it all. It's crashing around my ears.

"It's…" I begin. I cannot continue. I fall limply into a seat next to Caroline. She pats me on the back.

"Are you okay, Rose?" she asks softly. "You look pale."

I try to nod, or even smile, but I cannot. I cannot believe what has just happened. It's as if all the karma I have ever put out into this world is coming back all at once. I can't imagine any worse fate.

"It's Malfoy," I say. My voice quakes painfully. I think I might be sick.

"It's not. Surely, not?" Al looks petrified.

I nod, and the uproar is instant.

"They can't do that to you!"

"You'll kill each other!"

"She has to know that!"

"He'll be dead by tomorrow."

I look around at their horrified faces. Although it fills me with pride to see that they care so much, I can't help but worry endlessly. We may not kill each other, but I can think of so many things worse than death in our case.

Scorpius and I have always been rivals, from the very first day we met on the train. To say we became enemies is an understatement. To say we hated each other is not the right choice of words. I don't think there is a word, or even a paragraph, that could describe what we felt towards each other every moment we were in eyesight of one another.

Both of us are top students, and always have been. Even in classes we don't have together, we are at each other's throats for the top spot. That hatred, the competitive edge we gave each other, meant everything to us for the first five years in school. It was more than competition, though, so much more than just despising each other. I tried and convinced myself that the inferno between us was in our blood. My parents told me about how they despised his father, Draco. But no matter what I said or did, Scorpius just didn't resemble the horrible boy my parents mentioned in their stories. He was not horrible, not evil to anyone, just to me it seemed. There was something solely between us and no one else.

I would never be able to trust him, it seemed. Something about him... It was inexplicably strange. I couldn't place it, nor did I want to, afraid of what I could find. When our eyes met, the flame begins to flicker. And as I listened to the rush of my heart, feel the heat of my cheeks; I knew that it would grow to an inferno of hatred before I could stop it.

But that was nothing, _nothing,_ compared to another dilemma. No matter how much I tried and denied it, no matter how much I told myself it couldn't and won't ever be true, the reality of it seemed to both wake me up and put me to sleep each and every night when fifth year began.

Scorpius and I wanted to befriend each other. After five years of snide remarks and rude comments, the reality of our situation hit me. The fiery hatred was in dire need of quelling. We tried. Oh, how we tried. But the kindness we occasionally tried to force into the air felt wrongly foreign. It felt so forced it was almost like a compression chamber. We _couldn't_ be kind and polite to the other, because the fire between us, the simple metaphor that felt so real, could not be ridden of.

People knew there was livid hatred between us. Nothing changed when we tried to be nice to each other. But it seemed I couldn't tear my eyes away from him anymore. The fire I felt was now almost beckoning me to it; it was a challenge. _Come and stop me from burning, I dare you._

After an agonizing summer away from him, I was beginning to believe that it was all over. Everything would go back to normal. I thought my need to be friendly had been quelled by the space separating our heated looks. I was glad about this, in fact. I would not have to try and be nice to him anymore; finally, I could live normally.

I was never so wrong in all my life.

We never tried to be polite again, but something had changed between us. The fire burned just as strong, just as bright, but it longed to move somewhere. Our hatred was no longer enough to burn. But what else was there to burn down?

**XX**

**Thanks to my editor, Kimberley (xakemii)!**

**Reviews are lovely :) and thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter!**


	3. Chapter Three

  


**I really appreciate the reviews on this! I'm happy to say that it's going to be a good story, as far as my beta reader and I can tell. I'm still trying to update on a regular basis, as I have more than half of the story finished, but there's always something when you try to put the next chapter up. Anyways, thanks, and enjoy!**

XX

Once we're off the train and into the Great Hall, the sorting begins. I don't keep track of anyone who joins any other tables, but I clap along with everyone else when a number is added to Gryffindor. Once everyone is sorted and settled, the headmistress stands. I notice that there is an unusual sort of silence as Headmistress McGonagall stands to make her usual announcements.

"Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts," she begins. Her voice, as usual, holds above the hall. She begins the usual list of announcements; reminding us that the forest is out of bounds, that there is an extensive list of off limits items, and to be on our best behavior. Just as I turn to my plate, expecting food, she says something I was not expecting.

"Most unfortunately, I must hold your attention for a few more minutes, as there is something very important I must announce," she says. There is a collective groan from around the hall. It seems to echo and carry on much longer than it should. "And I think you will be glad that I don't hold this until after the feast.

"Now, before I begin, I must ask you to refrain from any talking or interruptions," she says with a slight smile, "No matter how interesting a thing I may say.

"This year, Hogwart's will be holding a sort of… competition."

The last of the mutterings and grumbling stops. Every eye in the hall is on her now. Even I have stopped dozing off to look at her in shock. A competition? I've never heard of that before.

"Twenty-six years ago, Hogwarts was the host for the competition, known as the Triwizard Tournament. In light of the terrible events that took place that year, it has since been canceled. Nearly three decades later, however, Hogwarts has decided to host—"

The words take immediate effect on the silent crowd. There is an uproar of gasps, whoops and screams. The very last Triwizard Tournament, and what happened during, is known by everyone; it was the year Voldemort rose to power again, the year everyone seemed to turn a blind eye, and the year everything began to fall apart. My family knows a lot more, however, since my uncle was the one who saw Voldemort rise again; an innocent boy died that year. And no matter how much evidence had supported the fact, no one wanted to believe Voldemort was back.

Is there really going to be another Tournament? I would have thought it would be over for sure after the last one. As I tell myself that this will be good, it will be safe and fun, I cannot erase the tales of my Mum and Dad's, of my whole family's, horrible recollection of the whole thing.

"Silence!" shouts the headmistress. "Before you go assuming things, I must implore that you not think of the worst. What happened years ago was a terrible, terrible event, and no one is willing to repeat it. That is why, instead of having a Triwizard Tournament, we will be having a different kind of event. It's name, and it's meaning, is the Four Founder's Championship."

You can tell there is about to be an upheaval at her words, but just as the hall gasps in unison, the headmistress raises her hand and gives everyone a severe look. No one makes a peep.

"This Championship will be a competition only Hogwarts will take place in. No other schools were willing to participate, but it serves the purpose just the same." She takes a weary breath, looking out at the student's. "Among our sixth and seventh year student's," her hand goes up again, because the hall shows every sign of interruption, "Are four champions. Anyone who wishes to be one of those four champions will submit their name with their Head of House. By the end of this month, we will announce those champions to the school, and they will begin to prepare for the first event. There will be four in all, each of the four to be one of the founder's own, and the goal will be to display the quality that the founder of the house would have exemplified him or herself. By the end of the four tasks, whomever has displayed the most worthy qualities from each of the houses will win the Hogwarts Cup."

There is another collective breath from the audience, but all of us are too shocked for words.

"These tasks will not be easy. While they are not life threatening, they are most certainly difficult, and you will have to use everything you have learned in your past six and seven years at school. While some of the events will be done individually, other's will require you to pair up with a fellow champion. No matter the task, you are to show the founder quality throughout it. For example, Ravenclaw's task will require wit and cunning, while Gryffindor's will require bravery and pride in the face of whatever lies ahead.

"Anyone in sixth and seventh year is to submit their name with their Head of House in the next few weeks if they wish to participate. Good look to you all, and please, eat!"

Just as the plates fill with food, there's an outburst of chatter. Most of the fifth and fourth years look disgruntled, but everyone else seems thoroughly excited. I can't lie to myself; I'm looking forward to submitting my name with Neville.

"So, what do you think?" Al asks me. He looks quite as excited as everyone else.

"I think that Mum and Dad know something we don't," I say, remembering their smug looks and secret conversations for the past summer. "And I'm very nervous."

"Why are you nervous?" Al gives me a questioning look.

"Because, the last time a tournament like this was held, something bad happened." I don't have to say what; he knows even better than I do.

"Yeah…" he says. He seems to reconsider for a moment, but brightens almost immediately. "But we won't be in any real danger this time. This is all about wit and bravery and cunning. There's nothing dangerous about figuring out a riddle, is there?"

I nod absently. Somehow, I feel slightly foreshadowed by the oncoming year.

"Besides," Al continues, diving into his pudding with an essence of finality about him, "Even if something bad does happen, I'm sure it won't be any worse than what happened last time."

I feel slightly reassured by his words. Truly, there is no danger of Voldemort ever rising again, so who am I kidding thinking something bad will happen? Everything will be fine. I dig into my own food, glad that I have nothing to worry about as Uncle Harry did twenty-six years ago.

I glance over at the Slytherin table. Scorpius, my fellow head, is glowering my way. I don't look away, annoyed, like I usually do when I catch his eye; instead, I'm deep in thought about something. What if Scorpius is chosen for Slytherin, and I'm chosen for Gryffindor? All in all, it's a good possibility. We are both the smartest students in the school. If we're both champions, and we're required to pair up…. What then? I don't think I could bear having to endure him even more than I have to, now that we share a room.

By the time I've finished going over the horror of it all, Scorpius is long gone, and my food has vanished from my plate. Maybe, just maybe, I won't have to compete against him.

Or maybe, just maybe, we've really both changed. If I do have to compete against him, then maybe our hatred will be fueled again; we can forget the forgery of friendship and how hard we tried to make it real.

But, unfortunately, the reality of it is I'm really doomed. As long as Scorpius is around, something bad is bound to happen. Uncle Harry never had to endure _this._

XX

"How much work do you think we'll get this year?" Al asks.

I joined Al in the Gryffindor common room after dinner. Now, we're relaxing before the flickering fire. We're the last two awake, not surprisingly, as we both suffer from sleepless nights when we're excited. I could try and sleep, but it will be a good few hours past midnight before I am so weary I won't be able to keep my eyes open.

"Well, more than ever, with our N.E.W.T.S coming up and all," I say.

"What about the tournament? Do you think that will cut back on our work load?"

"I doubt it. Probably only for the champions, and even then they'll be struggling to keep afloat."

"I don't think I can handle more work than last year." His eyes are wide and apprehensive.

"It wasn't so bad last year. O.W.L year was worse."

"How do you do it, Rose? You have more classes than anyone, yet you never seem to stress at all."

"Well, that might be because I have no social life."

"That's not true. You had three boyfriends last year."

"Yeah, well, they were content with sitting in the library with me and staring at me, weren't they? I didn't really talk much, and they were fine with that."

Our conversation stops for a while. My thoughts wander idly to Scorpius, whom is probably asleep in the Head's dorm by now. I don't think I could face him awake, especially now that I've come to the conclusion that we're bound to be competitors. Hopefully, by the time I'm back, he won't even hear me come in.

I would have rather been paired with a slug than him for Head Boy. Now that I have no chance of being graced with such luck, I rather hope he slacks off duty as he did for the past two years. Hopefully, he wants to minimize to contact between us, especially if we're chosen to be champions. That way, even if I do have to do a lot with him, the times we actually see each other will be to a minimum. No matter what our past holds, we will hate each other forever and always.

Al and I sit in silence for another twenty minutes, and only when he yawns do I even look up from staring at the dancing fire. I hug him goodnight as he wishes me luck, telling me that everything will be fine.

I hope, hope and hope and hope, that he's right.

I walk quickly up to the Head's dormitory, which at the end of the fourth floor corridor. It seems a long walk from the Gryffindor common room. It takes almost ten minutes, and when I find myself at the end of the corridor on the fourth floor, I come face to face with brick wall.

"Um…" I say, confused and worried. What if it closes after midnight? What if I got it wrong, and it's not on the fourth floor at all? What if I have to look all night for the door? "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Before I can begin to worry anymore, a large portrait of a ugly hag dressed in gorgeous purple robes appears on the wall. I nearly cry in relief when she says, with a scratchy voice, "I am the passage to the Head Common Room."

"Oh!" I cry. "Thank goodness! Um…. I'm Rose Weasley. I'm Head Girl. Can I…uh…go in?"

Before she even answers, I know what she'll say. "How do I know that you're Head Girl? Give me proof. Tell me a secret."

I shake my head in disbelief. Professor Haas told us that we would have to prove ourselves to be able to enter, but I never suspected this. "Excuse me?"

"I know the secret of every student in Hogwart's, though I know not their faces. Tell me a secret, _Rose Weasley,_ and if I shall allow you passage."

"Um…." I have no idea what to reveal. I dare not reveal something embarrassing or stupid, but I'm not exactly keen on giving away much else, either. "Uh…. My earliest memory is accidently transfiguring my brother's head to a pig, the day he came home from the hospital, in hopes my parents would take him back."

I feel a blush rising up my neck. The hag simply blinks smartly and swings forward with a 'whoosh', followed by a sigh of relief as I clamor into the portrait hole.

I gasp as I enter the common room. It's decorated lavishly in gold, black, silver and bronze. Most of the furniture is black, including the couch which sits in front of a blazing fire, and the desk against the corner of the room. The floor is gorgeous marble, flecked with gold and silver, and covered in a large rug with the Hogwarts crest in the center of it. The various windows are framed in bronze, while the rest of the wall seems to be coated in names of the previous Head Boy's and Girl's in gold lettering. The effect is enchanting, to say the least, and the room seems to relax me the moment I enter it. The smell is also intoxicating; it smells wild and exotic, like the sweetest flower mixed with the strongest spice.

There are three staircases ahead. The one in the middle, which I assume is the bathroom, I immediately run up. I am eager to see if it is anything to the Prefect bathroom.

I am almost blinded when I open the door. The entire room in covered in the purest white marble, and like below, it is flecked in silver and gold. There is a tub the size of a swimming pool in the center, with hundreds of silver faucets flanking it. There is a glass shower at the back of the room, also with silver shower heads inside of it. Two separate toilet stalls lie next to the sinks against the right wall, and on the left is a another Hogwart's crest, but in the purest silver color.

I laugh happily. This is all almost enough to make up for having to share it with Scorpius. Barely able to contain my excitement, I rush downstairs and head up the staircase to the right this time. Gryffindor's crest is emblazed on the door in deep crimson. I feel my spirits fall slightly…. What if the room is just simply red? I want it, selfishly, to be extravagant, coated in gold and soft velvet, I want it to be perfect—

Just as I wish, the room is beyond anything I could have dreamed. It seems to be a mixture between the dark common room and the bright bathroom. The drapery and the carpet are the only red things in the room, yet they don't bother me at all. The bead spread is golden silk, with pure white sheets. The wall is coated once more in golden names, but only of the Head Girl's. Suddenly, I cannot wait to put my name among the rest. Gryffindor's crest is on the wall, in crimson and gold. And although I look all around for it, I cannot find a bathroom. I assume I must share one.

Nothing could bother me, though. I excitedly begin unpacking my trunk into the wooden dresser, glancing up every so often to look at the room. I think how lovely Rabbles will look in the room with all the gold.

I look down at the garment in my hands, failing to contain my shriek. Somehow, I have obtained a _dress._ I finger it numbly. It's…beautiful.

The gold glitter and sequins glisten under the soft lighting in my room. It's almost large and extravagant enough to be a wedding gown. It's white all over, except for the gold accents in places, such as the curtain over the skirt and the lining on the top. It's strapless, and I can't help but think of how revealing this will be. It's gorgeous, stunning, even, but I cannot even begin to think of a situation in which I would put something like this on.

But…. This is what my mother went to get for me the day she went shopping without me. If she bought something this beautiful, obviously for me to wear, what on _earth_ would I have to eventually wear it to?

Then it hits me. The competition. Surely there will be a sort of formal event for it? There was one in my mother and father's year, for the Triwizard Tournament. I give a feeble laugh. I can't even begin to imagine the look on people's faces if I wear something like _this_ to the ball.

I carefully place the dress on the top of the dresser, putting an impenetrable charm on it just in case. I fall into bed with a large shirt on, too tired to do anything purposeful. I can't help but let my mind fall into thoughts of Scorpius, wearing dress robes and carrying a rose, watching me twirl and turn in the dress. It glitters across his features as the sequins hit the light…. Once again his eyes resemble Dora's.

XX

When I wake up, I stare idly at the ceiling, trying to imagine the day ahead. Obviously, lessons (for the whole year) will be torture. But I managed O.W.L.s, did I not? And I had even more classes back then. But it seems, no matter how hard I try and convince myself that the lessons won't be excruciating, I can't help but remember that this is my last year at school. This is my last year before I venture into the real world. How come this thought brings so much sadness, even as I tell myself that I am more than ready to move on?

The answer floats around in my head for a while before I am ready to grasp it. It's painful to think about, but the answer is as clear as day: there is something, or someone, missing.

I force myself out of my warm bed. The cold air seems to hit with unnatural force, and I am tempted to crawl back into my silken sheets. But no. I will be late again if I don't hurry up.

The quiet of my room, of the common room, and the whole air of the place unsettles me at times. I am so used to waking up to gaggles of girls and shouting below. Now, a blanket of silence settles around me, as if someone has stuffed my ears with cotton. I didn't speak to Scorpius last night…. Somehow, this unnerves me.

Wanting desperately to use the warm bath, but knowing I have too little time, I pull out my robes and Gryffindor scarf and set to dressing. I comb out my hair (which takes a good ten minutes, having not been brushed for a while) and settle on pulling it back in a red ribbon. Taking one last glance in the mirror, I grab my bag and books and shuffle downstairs.

To my surprise, Scorpius is still in the common room when I enter. My stomach gives a little jolt when I realize that he is, in fact, waiting for _me._ Surely he can't want to walk me to my class? But even as I think it, trying desperately for some form of agitation, I can't help but feel slightly pleased.

"Good morning," he says as I descend the staircase. "I never heard you come in last night."

Is this his new tactic? To be so polite that it's almost repulsive?

"That's because I came in late," I snap. I am certainly not up for his games.

"How late is late?"

"Three in the morning."

"Dear, dear. Looks like I'll have to keep a closer eye on you."

I'm sure he winked at me, but it was so fast I had no time to catch it. What is his deal? Just as I'm sure he can't be any worse, he smiles politely and says lightly, "Can I take your books for you?"

At this, I stop dead. My mouth is slightly ajar, and I'm sure I look thunderstruck, but I don't care. What in the world is wrong with this boy? He knows we can't be friends. He knows this….. So why is he trying?

"What the hell, Scorpius?" I can't stop myself from saying his first name.

"What?" he asks innocently. A little too innocently.

"You're being… _nice,"_ I say. I squint my eyes at him, trying to see past his ruse.

"Why can't I be? Have you completely given up on me?"

This comment takes me off guard. Before I can help it, sadness begins to well inside me. I know what he means. How can he possibly bring up something like this? He must know I want a friendship badly. He had to have known that, and he must know that he wants it too. This hurts beyond any rude thing he could have done.

"That's uncalled for, Scorpius," I almost whisper. I can't help it. I'm torn between wanting to be his friend, to try once more, and punching every inch of him for even suggesting such a thing.

His eyes fall slightly, and I know he knows he's upset me. "Look, Rose," he says softly. "I'm sorry about all of it. I just want to try, one more time. Please, I just don't want to regret this last year, okay? Can you please try?"

His words are carefully, and well, chosen. I am tempted to give in. I am so tempted; I even open my mouth to say all is forgiven before I stop myself.

Scorpius would not do something like this. He was never the one to verbalize his want for a friendship; actually, the only way we've ever communicated this is by actually being friendly, not saying the words. He would not apologize without some sort of benefit on his part. So what is his motive this time? Is there a bet going on? Or does he really just want to be friends? Somehow, I don't think it's the latter.

"I—no, Scorpius.. It's…. I don't want to….." I am on the verge of nothing. There is no reason I can tell him. I refuse to say I don't want to be friends because I'm afraid that he'll know I'm lying. So, instead, I just say, "I'm not going to force this again."

His eyes flash anger for a moment; but it takes only that moment to put on a sad and heartbroken face. I am quicker, though. I know he's hiding something. Suddenly it's not just the fact that I'm afraid of a friendship, it's also the fact that he is hiding something. He's lying to me, and it makes his next words even worse to deal with.

"I figured you might say that. But I wish you'd want to try as much as I do." With one last glance, he turns and leaves the room with his head bashfully low.

Whatever he may be hiding, his words hit home. I realize that I'm not afraid he's involved in some kind of bet with me. I'm just afraid…afraid that I really do want to be friends with him. Yet our efforts will never be able to overcome our hate.

But I won't let it ruin anything, because I'm determined that this year be perfect.

XX

I walk into the Great Hall trying to push all thoughts from my mind. What Scorpius may be planning. What he wants. What I'm so afraid of. What I still feel for him. I fill my stomach instead, with a large platter or eggs and fried tomatoes.

Lorcan sees me, over at the Ravenclaw table, and comes and sits down next to me. He's munching on a muffin. I smile up at him, and he smiles airily back.

"Hi, Lorcan," I say.

"Hi Rose," he says. These are the words that pass between us. These words, and then he begins to pick off the toasted bit of his food.

I am too used to this to notice or care. Leave it to Lorcan to leave me in the only comfortable silence I have ever endured.

"Al wandered off somewhere," he says suddenly, as if he's just remembered. "With Pamela and Caroline, too."

"Where'd they go?"

"To submit their names, I suppose."

I think about this for a moment. Did they really? I think of Neville taking their applications regretfully, as if he knows he will have to deny them all the chance to be a victor.

Do I want to submit my name? If I get chosen, and Scorpius gets chosen, what does that change? Nothing? Everything? The questions pile around in my head until I literally have to shake it to get rid of my thoughts. I think I've already determined that I have no choice, that I have to submit my name.

"Oh, Al said he would submit your name as well," says Lorcan.

So much for having a 'choice.'

"Are you going to submit yours?" I ask hopefully. Lorcan would be a good choice for Ravenclaw champion. If I can't have anyone else, at least I can have him.

"I suppose," he replies. Then he is too interested in his muffin to say much else. I laugh and pat him goodbye, deciding to try my chances at finding Al or Pamela.

XX

During Charms, which is my first lesson of the day, I locate Al and try to look stern as I confront him about submitting my name. He tries to look ashamed, too, but he's not as good as it as I am.

"So," I begin. "You decided it was a good idea to submit my name without my permission?"

Having the good sense to lower his gaze, he says, "Well, I thought you would have submitted it anyways."

Just because I'm too stubborn for my own good, I refuse to tell him the truth. I refuse to say that, had he not submitted my name, I would have been there only two minutes after he went. Just as he has the good grace to look shameful, I have the good grace to look outraged. "No! I wasn't even planning on putting in my name!"

He looks taken aback. "Sorry, Rose. I would have thought you would have wanted to."

I can't really give a response to this. Why am I lying? Why am I telling him that this championship means nothing to me at all? When, in truth, it means more than I will ever admit to myself?

I take my book out of my bag, not meeting Al's eyes as he continues to stare at me. Something is buzzing in my head that I refuse to acknowledge at this moment. This is too much, too much, to happen within my first day back.

"Good morning, students!" calls Professor Ramsey, Charms teacher and Ravenclaw Head of House. I smile up at him, glad to see a familiar face in a time so unfamiliar to me. "I don't think you'll be needing your books today, I think. We're going to be going over the basics for the next few weeks, so I suggest you just brush up in your own heads!"

Second only to Professor Haas, Professor Ramsey is one of the best teachers at Hogwarts. He reminds me of a wise old bird, with his ink black hair and beady eyes. He had reminded me of a bird the very first day of school, and it shocked me to find that he really _was_ one. One day, during dinner, when the headmaster was giving a speech, she turned around and told Professor Ramsey to deliver a message to our divination teacher. He promptly turned into a raven and flew from the room, and half of the students fell off of their stools. I looked him up in the ministry Animangus records to find that he was, in fact, one of the first registered Animaguses on earth. This only heightened my respect for him.

"Let's begin by review something fun, just to get us in the mood for the lesson ahead," he begins again. "I'd like you all to turn to your partner and practice a few Cheering Charms. Be careful, though. I don't want any hysterical students in my class today."

With a final wink, he lets us go off on our own. I turn to Albus. There he is, his wand ready, asking if he should go first as I nod. Why do I have to stay mad at him? If I let it go, then I myself can let it go.

Letting go doesn't seem to be a conscious choice, though. For the next half an hour, Al and I repeatedly charm each other, and sometimes purposely too strong, and smile jubilantly as all is forgotten. At one point, I am forced to put my head between my knees because of Al's spell. It seems he is quite taken with the turn of events.

I am too. As we move onto reviewing multiple spells, I cheer up dramatically even without Cheering Charms to help. I don't want to forget completely what is nagging at my mind. I was lying to Al for a reason, and I'll be damned if I don't figure it out. But I'm ready to forget for today.

After we are dismissed to our next lesson, I walk with Al with no more words on our previous feud. I am glad for this, glad he has forgotten, and hope it doesn't come up again. We walk to the Transfiguration classroom, eager to see what Professor Haas has in store for our first day back.

As usual, the Professor just stairs airily at us as we all enter and take our seats. I always think of Lorcan's mother, Luna Lovegood, when the Professor gets like this. I always think that people like this, airy and dreamy, are the best people to be around.

"Hello everyone," she says vaguely as we all take a seat. "I see no one has been expelled yet. That's good. Any detentions?"

We all laugh. This, along with her relatively kind demeanor, is what I love about Professor Haas.

"Well, I have a great year in store for you all," she begins again. Her smile is lively and bright as she crinkles her nose. "Without any further ado, let me introduce you to the topic that will be the goal for the year."

And, just as her sentence ends, there's a small 'pop!' and our Professor vanishes. Some students gasp, and I think for one moment that the Professor has apparated within Hogwarts. Before I can question it, however, a small rabbit hops onto my desk.

I am so shocked I cannot even move. Where on _earth_ did this come from?

Unlike me, who cannot utter a sound, several people gasp and point at the rabbit on my desk. It is a light brown color, almost blonde, with dark brown eyes and dark lashes. And unlike a normal rabbit, whose nose is notoriously known to twitch and ears to turn, this one is completely still. It's giving me a look, too. It's the kind of look I usually get from—

" _Professor?"_ I manage to gasp. Is it really? Could Professor Haas really be an animagus?

Before I can voice these questions, the rabbit gives a curt little not, and her eyes light up. Turning away from my desk, she bounds over to the other desks, allowing all the students to examine her closely. I can't even believe this. Is this our aim for the year? To study animanguses, to maybe even turn _into_ one?

"Well, now," comes a voice. I turn to see Professor Haas standing at the back of the room, now back to her original human form. Now that she is back to normal, I can't help noticing the unmistakable signs that the rabbit showed. Professor Haas has dirty blonde hair, with was the rabbits fur color, and very tan skin. Her face, when not crinkled or laughing loudly, is very beautiful, with sharp eyes and features. These were all signs that the rabbit showed.

"As you may have just noticed, I turned into a rabbit," she continues. A few people laugh. "But, if you are beginning to think I am an animagus, then you are mistaken."

A few people begin murmuring and wondering. How can she turn into a rabbit without being an animagus? There is only one spell that can do that, yet only being an animagus makes it so your animal resembles your physical and mental.

"The things we will study this year involve animanguses, yes. But not only that. Very recently, a devilishly talented wizard has created a spell that can transform you into, essentially what would be your animagus, until you wish to change back. This, I think, is one of the most revolutionary spells of the generation. While the ministry is currently trying very hard to place strict guidelines on this spell, it doesn't stop people from transforming left and right. And as it is disastrous if performed wrong, don't go thinking you'll be changing into your animal in a matter of days."

There is a collective gasp from the room. Someone shouts, "We get to be animals?" and a few others give woops of excitement.

"Yes, yes," Professor Haas says quickly, waving them off. "While studying this spell, you will be slowly working towards the end of the year, where you will all transform into your respective animals for a few hours." She smiles at the reactions of the students. "And who knows? If one of you is to become Champion, then this spell might very well help you to win."

There. She's done it, now. Even with the excitement buzzing around the room, I now am forced to remember. I may be a champion, and I may be competing against a sworn enemy. I will be lying to Albus, telling him I don't _really_ want to compete. When in truth, I am only lying to myself.

The rest of the lesson is drawn on too long for my liking. No matter the interest level, my thoughts are on only one thing.

This year may come to mean more to me than any other.


	4. Chapter Four

XX

Amazingly, the next week passes by with little incident. Despite my nerves about the upcoming games, I am determined to keep my unsure feelings buried deep down. I will not let anything get in the way of my grades, of this year, not the games, not Scorpius, not anything. And just like the games, I keep my emotions about Scorpius buried down as well. It isn't hard, especially since Scorpius and I are hardly conversing at all. This helps more than I could possibly say.

The second Monday of the year, exactly a week from the first day of school, the Headmistress rises from her table. Since this is highly unusual for just a normal day, most of the students in the hall fall immediately silent.

"After a week of deliberation," she begins, "The Heads of Houses have decided the four champions who will compete in the Four Founders Championship."

No one says a word as the four Heads of Houses rise. There is no need to silence the crowd, as no one would dare talk right now. I myself think my throat has squeezed itself shut.

"The Hufflepuff Champion," begins Professor Woldells, Head of Hufflepuff House and Muggle Studies teacher, "is Anna MacMillan."

There is a chorus of applause from the Hufflepuff table, but I am not paying attention. I can already tell this is going too fast. This is horrible. I never _really_ wanted to be champion, did I? This was all a big game to me. Something that would be fun to do. Something I could have bragging rights about, if I come out victorious. Right?

Anna, with her long dark hair and porcelain skin, takes the stage happily. People are still cheering for her as Professor Ramsey takes the stage, whom is the head of Ravenclaw. He opens his mouth to speak, silencing the applause almost instantly. "The Ravenclaw Champion is, I'm pleased to announce, Lorcan Scamander!"

I manage to clap with the others, so glad and happy for Lorcan my heart skips a beat, but my brain is fogging up quickly. I am just lying to myself. I do want to be champion, more than anything, and it's merely fear of not being chosen that is forcing me to tell myself this is unimportant. What if I'm not chosen at all? I was so sure I would be, so positive that it would be me, but there is no way I could have been sure. I am still not sure. Will I be crushed if it's not me? I need this…. This is so important to me, and I don't even know why. It has to be me. It has to.

"—Scorpius Malfoy!" I do not even look up as Professor Haas announces him as champion. This was expected. This was inevitable.

Will I be crushed if I am not standing there beside him? Is it because of this boy that I want this so bad? Maybe I have the idea that this championship can finally burn the fire away between us, that we can become friends—

"The champion for Gryffindor," Professor Longbottom begins. You can almost hear the air crackle with electricity. "Is Rose Weasley!"

Pats on the back. Cheers from the crowd. Shoves to move forward, because right now my feet are failing me. This would always happen. There was no question about it; I was just being silly in doubting myself. But why am I so worried now? If there was no doubt about being one of the four champions, what is there to doubt now? Why am I threatening to fall down in dread as I make my way to the front of the hall?

What is there to question?

The dull lit ceiling shines down on me, focusing on me and me alone. Every pair of eyes in the great hall is on me now. Somehow I manage to smile, smirk even, and pretend to be full of confidence. Yet a sense of foreboding swells and churns in my chest, and I cannot just dismiss it as a case of nerves.

My eyes seek another. Who they find, however, seek mine as well. As I meet Scorpius's gaze, steady and strong, I know what I'm so afraid of. It is, in part, his fault for making me crazed with fear. It is his fault for giving me hope that this competition will illuminate my path towards him, towards the one boy I really never gave up on. I am ready to embrace our nonexistent relationship with open arms, no matter how much it burns. I want him so badly it hurts.

But a part of this has nothing to do with him. A part of this fear, this uncertainty, is something I am finally ready to admit to myself. As these cheers press me on, these eyes scrutinize my every step, these hands reassure my victory and their wavering support, I know. This victory, this inevitable victory that I am so sure will be mine, means so much more than just these eyes or hands or cheers.

It means something unexplainable. It means completion. It means that, no matter what happens in my future, if I win this, victory will remain in my past. Who's to say I won't just fail for the rest of my life?

But if I can win this…. If I can win this, I will be a winner no matter what I become.

I take my place besides Scorpius, brushing my arm against his, bringing tingles along my skin. I look over at him, meeting his gaze, planning on flaunting my confidence now that I know what my goal is. Now that uncertainty is not part of the question, now that I know I have to win this. There is no fear, either, because I know I am going to win this no matter what.

But then, suddenly, he has changed everything. His kind smile, so unflattering on his sharp features. His searching eyes, so different from the arrogant ones I am used to. He is afraid. He is afraid, because he now has a threat that only I could have posed. He has a weakness, and he can't afford a weakness.

Because I'm not the only one who wants to win this. With one look, I know he wants to win it for all the same reasons as I do.

If he can get inside my head, get close to my heart, he will stop me from becoming a winner. All these emotions between us will be used to his advantage, to manipulate me into weakness, until I am no longer a threat. That is his plan. That is his game. He will be that winner, from then until the day he dies, and I will have no past Victoires to cling to.

But because two can play this game, I smile back at him and feel that familiar fire rise up between us. There will be only one victor in the end.

Keeping thing buried will not help. All in that gaze, all in that moment, I let everything I have ever felt for this boy fall into the fire. The heat explodes into an inferno. It surrounds us, buries us, and I see his gaze falter for one small second.

I am determined to be that victor.

XX

In spite of my recent revelation, I try to keep a straight face for the next few weeks. If Scorpius finds out that I know then my plan will fail. His plan has already failed, I think will glee. There is no way that I won't come out on top of this. Surely he knows that?

I now see his motive for being kind to me that first morning. Obviously, he realized that it was inevitable that we would be two of the champions. He must have been playing to weaken me ever since the contest was announced. It's too bad he doesn't know that I'm now on the same page.

I couldn't immediately play up my part. I had to wait. And so I did, for an agonizing week of ignoring his helpful gestures and happy smiles. He would have realized right of the bat if I had just handed him my books and my hand in friendship. He's too smart, and so I have to play hard to get.

The one thing that irks me is that, had this competition not been in our way, and had Scorpius tried to be my friend without an ulterior motive, I would have been just the same. I would have hidden my smiles at his generosity, concealed my heart beneath layers of skin, and ignored him as much as I could. The only difference between pretend and actuality is the fact that I'm aware of what I'm doing. Instead of it being instinctual, everything I do from now on is nothing but intellectual.

I am still playing hard to get. The real Rose Weasley would have held back until her resolve could not be pushed any further. Scorpius, had I done anything else, would have sensed this. And I will know when the time comes to give in. Because, even though I am playing this, acting this (because this is all make-believe, no?), I feel every simmering moment that surfaces between me and this boy.

Because no matter what I do or say, the fire between us is _real,_ and I can't help but feel its flames licking my mind and heart.

XX

"So, Rose," Al says in Charms one day, "what are you going to do about the upcoming task?"

We haven't talked much about the championship. Al is obviously crestfallen that he did not get the chance to be a champion. I can see him regretting entering my name every time the topic arouses around other people.

"Well, what can I do but wait?" I respond. I have to admit, my agitation is growing. No one will know what the first task is until the day of the event. If I could at least know what it is, I could spend my time looking up things that would help me in the library, instead of just pacing up and down an empty room.

"Do you think anyone would tell us what the first task is?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. I snort. "You know, like my Mum or Dad? Or yours? They probably know exactly what it is."

"Yeah, but the chances of them telling us are about zero to none." I pick up my wand again, trying to concentrate on the Vanishing Spell we are supposed to be placing on the feathers before us. I tap my wand smartly against the feather, and it's gone. Al doesn't look interested.

"But what if we can persuade them? Tell them that you aren't eating or sleeping, cause you're so worried about the first task?"

"I doubt that'll work. Our family aren't really the people to feel guilty, are they?"

"What if we say that it was their fault for telling us about my dad's time in the Triwizard Tournament? That they gave you nightmares because of it? That'll make them feel guilty."

I shake my head. Al wants to know about the first task more than I do. Unfortunately, all that anyone's been told is that the first task is Gryffindor's. I suppose this would calm me more than irritate me, but it got me going to the library to do extensive research on Godric Gryffindor well into the midnight hours. What if I don't win this task? It's Gryffindor's, after all, and I should be the one winning this one.

"Al, I really think you should just be patient," I say. It's more to just shut him up, because I am even worse when he's not around. "Besides, you're not the one who has to face whatever the hell it is."

I immediately regret my choice of words. Al's face falls glumly, and he takes to twirling his wand around his floating feather until it's reduced to bits. I don't really know what to say. It's not like I can offer many encouraging words in this case.

When the bell rings, Al and I depart our separate ways. I meet Pamela halfway to my next class, Arithmacy, and I tell her about Al's downhearted spirit. She just sighs and tells me he'll get over it before lunch. I hope she's right.

We leave Arithmacy with considerably heavier book bags, as Professor Huggins has assigned us a two-foot essay on the magical properties of odd and even numbers. I can't help but doubt that I might not make it out of this year alive, what with the workload we're being given.

"Ooh, it's Transfiguration next," Pamela says excitedly. "I hope we get to do more than essays today. I really want to turn into an animal soon. It seems like all of our teachers have, anyways."

I nod my agreement. It would be nice to turn into an animal, actually. Escape reality for a few hours. I wonder what animal I am…..

Pamela and I take our seats, after seeing that Al has paired off with Lorcan. I can't help giggling whenever I see these two close together; they are, literally, complete opposites in looks. Al, with his jet black hair, dark skin and eyes, looks almost black. Blake, however, has beach blonde hair, translucent skin, and sky blue eyes. People often call them the opposite twins, because if they had the same color pigments, they would be almost identical.

"Hello, everyone!" Professor Haas gives her usual greeting. She looks particularly cheery today. "Today, let's get right down to business."

Everyone straightens in their seats. No, we heard right. We really don't have to get our books out today. Hurray.

"For the rest of the year, you will be partnering off with someone who will be your…um... Well, they will be accountable for supervising you when you attempt to change into your animal form. So, choose your partner wisely, as they will be responsible for much of your life, as well as your even more important grade."

There's a tinkling of laughter as people turn towards their partners. I look at Pamela, and she smiles and asks, "Do you wanna be partners?" I nod, glad that I don't have to face Al with this.

"Oh! Wait a minute!" shouts Professor Haas, as if she's just remembered something. "I don't want you pairing with anyone from another house, no matter how smitten you Gryffindor's are with my lovely Slytherins. Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuffs, I'm sure you'll get along fine, but you know, I don't want you getting too friendly."

Ha. Not like any of us were planning on pairing up with them, anyways.

"I want your buddy to be close to you, so you will preferably share a common room." Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. "So, Gryffindors with Gryffindors and Slytherins with Slytherins. Except, of course, for our Head Boy and Girl."

I immediately tense, and I see Scorpius does, too. But he relaxes much quicker, and turns around and gives me a silly smile. This is all the more reason for me to want to trust him, right? He's probably thinking, right now, how exactly this arrangement will work to his advantage.

Oh well. I'll just have to play _harder_ to get.

"While we move forward, in ever progression towards changing into our animals, I want you all to do some research." There is a collective groan from around the classroom. "Now, now, let's not be ickle firsties about this. It's more than just research. You and your partner are to sit down and record your respective personality traits, your physical attributes, and your different habits. When you have basically chewed yourself up, swallowed, and then spit yourself out again, I want you all to turn into me a guess at what animal you think you will turn into. Research some animals, and if one of those animals look like you and act like you, then chances are that it is your animal. I will award an extra one hundred points in extra credit to whomever guesses their animal correctly."

Ooh, this could be fun, I think. Even if I do have to spend the day with Scorpius.

"How long does the essay have to be?" someone asks.

"It doesn't matter how long, just as long as you show me how selfish and ugly you all are, and pinpoint an animal to those qualities."

Everyone laughs at this, because Professor Haas is smiling herself. When the bell rings, I feel considerably happier than I was an hour ago.

XX

In the great hall one night during dinner, Caroline decides to break the news to me. Unfortunately, I have a spoonful of pudding in my mouth at the time.

"So….," she begins, blushing, and Pamela and I stare at her. She blushes even more. "Guess what Al and I did?"

I stare at her. She stares at me. Just because I don't ever want to hear any sort of words escape her lips right now, I cut in, "Tell me you went to the library and read an amazing book. Dear God, please tell me it was the library."

If possible, she blushes so much that it could rival my own father. Her cheeks are full and pink as she mutters a small 'yeah' and stares at her chicken leg.

"What?" Pamela asks. She doesn't seem to be getting it yet.

"Well, it was in the library," Caroline says, so quietly I barely hear it over the chatter in the hall.

"Excuse me?" I stutter in indignation. " _What?"_

"Well…. me and Al…. you know….."

And that is all she manages to mutter before I go completely ballistic.

"No, no, NO!" I yell. "You DON'T tell me these sorts of things! I'm practically his _sister,_ I don't want to have anything to do with…stuff….that you did….. It's GROSS!"

Caroline and Pamela both laugh. It may be funny to them (in fact, I'm sure it's hilarious) but the whole thing is giving me images that are not welcome. Good for Caroline for finally getting laid with her boyfriend of three years, but I really have no desire to hear it, and I tell her so.

"Sorry, Rosie," she says, still giggling, "I thought you might want to know."

"What? And picture Al and you _doing it?_ What are you trying to do, scar me for life?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I wouldn't want to know how many girls _my_ brother's shagged."

Caroline has an _extremely_ cute older brother. I'd probably like to know how many girls he's shagged... Pamela seems to be thinking along the same lines, because she looks up in earnest, suddenly interested in the conversation we're having. What little was left of Caroline's laughter evaporated on the spot; she looks at both of us in disgust.

"Ew. Yuck, guys. That's _gross."_

"Yeah, now you know how I feel."

"And it's not gross to _us,"_ Pamela cuts in. She's got one of _those_ glints in her eyes.

"Okay, can we get off the subject of brothers, please?" Caroline is practically begging.

"Please," I am too.

We all resume eating in silence. I'm too full to eat anything else, so I chew a bit of rubbery pudding in my mouth for a while. It rolls around on my tongue until my mouth is dry and I have to take a swig of water. It helps, but I am still hoarse. Surely a little bit of mush couldn't do that….

And then I realize, the goopy pudding isn't the cause of my dry mouth. It's _him,_ and he's staring right at me. I try to avert my eyes, but his are like glue. I cannot look away. They're so deep, so blue, against such pale skin, they practically pop out of his face. They're intoxicating. I'm hoping against hope he feels the same, because if he's just having a laugh with his friends, then I'm just another hopeless case. He'll be laughing behind my back the moment I look away.

But I don't look away. He stares at me from under dark lashes for longer than I can care to remember. It's probably only been a few minutes, but it feels much longer to me. It feels like an eternity. And it will be another eternity before I look away again.

"Rose?"

It's Caroline who snaps me out of the staring contest. I lose, I guess, because I look away first to meet her large green eyes. She looks like she's swallowing some large rock. I stifle a laugh.

"What are you staring at?" she asks.

"Try _who_ is she staring at," Pamela says. She, on the other hand, looks very confident indeed.

"I'm not staring at anyone." I can't lie to either of them, anyways. The words aren't even out of my mouth when I know they'll figure it out.

Taking my lie as a practical ' _that guy over there'_ they both look around to where I was staring. Scorpius has enough sense to look away when they begin swiveling their heads around. However, since I was staring in the same direction for a good five minutes, they have a good idea who it is.

"Oh. It's _him_ again, isn't it?" Caroline asks.

"Who's _him?"_ The best I can do is just play innocent.

"You know, stupid Scorpius I'm-Too-Good-For-Anyone Malfoy."

"What about him?"

"Why were you getting all googly-eyed over him?"

"I didn't have _googly-eyes,_ Carol. Especially not over him."

"Then why were you two practically having a staring contest?"

Actually, that's exactly what I thought of it to be. What else would it be?

"I dunno. Go ask him."

"Is he bugging you?"

"No, not at this particular moment."

"How is it sharing a dorm with him?"

"We tend to avoid each other."

Well, that's not entirely true. I tend to avoid _him,_ but he seems quite fond of running into me.

"Well, it's better than being at each other's throats, I suppose."

"Yep."

Thankfully, Caroline gives up on the subject. Pamela never even took interest in it, thankfully. That's why she's my best friend. She doesn't like things that aren't worth liking.

And this conversation wasn't worth interpreting, was it?

I wasn't getting all _googly-eyed_ over him at all.

XX

XX

It comes as a relief to me that, even when things seem unquestionably _different_ this year, nothing real between Scorpius and I has changed. He still hates me. I still hate him. Fire like no other runs between us, and we have learned that there is no point in trying to get past it. Maybe it just runs in our blood, but we don't question it.

I could almost feel _happiness_ when he called me a weasel the first day back.

Now, it is unmistakably relief that floods through me when harsh words are exchanged. Nothing has changed.

I arrive at the common room portrait. The ugly hag sits, quite awake, as I approach. I can see her mole from almost all the way across the hall….

"Malfoy?"

Because there is Scorpius, standing before the portrait, staring oddly up at it. Maybe it's just me, but I can tell something is different. Why would he stand here like this? Surely he wasn't waiting for _me?_

"What are you doing?" I ask. He still stares up at the portrait as I continue to squint at him.

"Look."

"Look at what?"

"Look at the _picture,_ Weasley."

I look and receive a shock. Because there is the ugly hag, although she is significantly less ugly than before. While her mole remains, her eyes are full of what I can only describe as beauty, now a golden color instead of the muddy brown I remember. Her wrinkles remain, yet the scars on her beaten face have disappeared. Was I imagining it? Did she actually _wink at me?_

"What….?" I begin, but can't finish.

"I don't have a clue," Scorpius says. He shakes his head like he doesn't get it, either.

"I'm not imagining it, then?"

He looks over at me for the first time with an annoyed look on his face. "Oh, _no,_ I was just standing here waiting for you to come so I could reveal my darkest secret in front of you."

Although his voice is full of sarcasm, I realize that one of us does in fact have to reveal a secret to gain passage. He seems to realize this the same time I do, and sets his face in an expression that practically screams 'no way in hell'.

"Well, it's not going to be me!" I yell. He scoffs.

"Oh, yes, I suppose that's true. You _do_ have a more embarrassing past." He places a perfect finger on his chin as if he's contemplating this.

"So what's your secret? That you get manicures daily?"

He draws his finger away as if it's been burned. I smile haughtily at him as he scowls at me.

"No, actually. One time, when I was four, my father accidently showed the Dark Mark on his arm. I thought it was pretty neat, so I took a quill and wrote the symbol on my arm. Father didn't approve."

I laugh loudly. "Oh, what did dearest daddy do to poor baby Scorpius? Tell him 'bad boy'? Not let him on his Firebolt for a week? Make him do a _chore?"_

Scorpius's face turns down in a frown, and I know immediately I've hit a nerve.

"I'm not a spoiled brat, Weasley," he snaps, "despite your impression. Just because I didn't grow up with twenty-something family members at my side doesn't mean I was pampered to death."

The portrait swings open, and he walks in brusquely. I follow after him, hot on his heels.

"Oh? Really, because I was under the impression that _you_ have the best racing broom, the best clothes, the best books, the best _everything._ Unless I was just imagining it all?"

"Those aren't from my _father,_ Weasley."

"So mummy's the one who pampers you, then? Not dearest dad?"

"My mother hasn't given me anything. Ever."

I seem to have struck something within this boy, and he's hit back. I can't stop these words from either of us. We are now standing in the middle of the warmly lit common room, icy words coming from both of us. This doesn't feel like normal to me. I can't feel the usual douse of fire between us. It's just _cold._

"Why not? Does she not like that you get manicures or something?"

"She doesn't give a _damn—"_

"—Or does she disapprove of your choice in clothing?"

"—about me!"

We're both fuming. He is so deserving of these words, of this hatred, he is such an egotistic, hot headed, filthy little _bastard—_

"What?"

I whisper the word, and it comes out like a hiss from a teapot. I have only just realized what he's said.

"How can your mother not care about a perfect little child like _you?"_ I ask. He refuses to meet my eyes.

"It's none of your damn business, Weasley."

"Oh, excuse me, but you were the one who shouted it at me in the first—"

"I SAID IT DIDN'T FUCKING _MATTER,_ ROSE!"

"Well, apparently it does, or you wouldn't have brought it up!"

"If you must know," he begins, and his face is icy cold, "my parents both could care less for me. My father is mad he had to take after _his_ father, so stays far away from me so as not to pass it down another generation. My mother….never wanted a child. I get fancy things because we have money, but also to make up for the lack of attention I get from my parents."

I'm struck speechless. This wasn't at all what I was expecting him to say. His parents aren't even a part of his life. His mother doesn't even love him at all.

"You're lucky to be poor, Weasley. At least your parents try to fill the void with love rather than money."

He turns away from me, and I am left to stare at his back for a while. I watch as he makes his way up the staircase to his room, his head held low. I'm not even sure what our argument was about. I just know it was hurtful, and was obviously personal. And suddenly, I feel numb.

But in a strange way, I feel cheated….as if for truth.

XX

I sent Rables over to Lorcan's window, asking him to come and sit with me in the head dorm. He is over in less than a minute, a platter of fresh cookies in tow that he stole from the kitchens on his way. I take his hand and a cookie, and we both sit down by the fire. Just looking at his face is warmth and relief to the tense environment here with Scorpius. We munch on cookies and silence for a while, content with both, with no need for words or talk of why I needed him here. After a good hour of just staring into the fire and at each other, he breaks the silence.

"I hope you're enjoying your time with Malfoy," he says.

I snort. "Like I enjoy my time with dragons, I'll assure you."

"Well his father was a dragon for sure," he says.

"Actually, that's exactly what our conversation was about," I mumble. "He told me that his parents don't really care for him."

I know what Albus would say, or Caroline or Pamela. They would say something along the lines of "Can you blame them?" But Lorcan simply says, "Pity helps nothing, Rose. You can't change what they feel for him."

And those are the only words I need to hear before the weight of the world is lifted off my shoulders. I lean back against his firm chest, pounding with his heartbeat, and am suddenly asleep in the deepest slumber since summer.

XX

Waking up in the morning feels like a slap in the face. I cannot truly remember what words were exchanged within that time period last night. All I know is that, for once, Scorpius showed emotion. I suppose I just had to pick on that fact, just to get under his forever untouched skin.

Will we ever resume our normality?

I know immediately the answer is yes. We have fought thousands of times before; so many times I couldn't possible keep count. They were trivial things, just like last night. And this time won't be any different. We fought. We forgive. We hate. And that's all there is too it.

My bed is very cold. The silken gold offers very little protection against the frigid air, which seems to become increasingly colder with the coming days. Winter will be here before anyone knows it. I can feel it in the air. It's just beginning to show-

Scorpius showed something last night. Usually, the arguments we share are heated and full of malice, but they never inflict pain on either of us. The words we shared last night (I remember not the words, but the feeling they brought. It's like when I look at a childrens book I read when I was young; I don't remember the words, but just seeing the book reminds me of happiness and warm nights under the covers) were frozen with true emotions. And it's not the fact that the words were below the belt; there have been times before when the remarks we said brought tears to my eyes. The whole connection between us was just inflicting so much more. He finally showed sadness….and I felt terrible sympathy for him. Even guilt….

"What are we doing?" I whisper to myself. Scorpius is an enemy, and he always has been. Just because we are _pretending_ to be nice to one another, just because we're _trying_ to manipulate each other with adoration, doesn't mean that anything has changed between us.

And, even though I don't want to admit it, trying to be in love would spite passion rather than sadness, right?

If I am 'in love' on the outside, it doesn't mean anything has to change on the inside.

Right?

_You can see me playing childish games. They disgust me. I play them with myself, trying to deny the truth for as long as I can play pretend with myself. But then I must realize: I must pretend for Scorpius. I am not trying to deceive myself, because I don't_ want _to be kind to this boy. I just_ have _to. And besides….being kind never worked out between us before. Why should it be different now?_

_But you know the answer. Unfortunately, so do I._

_Everything is different now._

XX

A week later without incident, I go to my first lesson, not bothering with breakfast.

"Hi, Rosie!" Caroline calls out from behind me. I turn to see her and Pamela walking towards me, Pamela drifting a bit to the left. Sure enough, there's Evan Longbottom. Pamela's been in love with him for years.

"Hi guys!" I call back, feigning enthusiasm.

"Ooh, guess who I saw in the hall?" she says. I raise my eyebrow in question, though my mind is elsewhere. "Malfoy, and he looks horrible!"

"Yeah? What's wrong with him?" Hmm. Maybe I responded a bit too quickly, because Pamela giving me a knowing look. I brush her off. I haven't really looked at Malfoy since our fight last week, only just occasionally passing him in the hallways.

"I dunno. He looks all mopey and pale, though. A lot gloomier than his usual haughty self."

"He kind of sneered at us, too. For some reason," Pamela cuts in, but I know she knows. She mouths 'talk to me later' behind Caroline's back, and I nod. It'll be nice to talk to her without the gossip queen around.

"That's odd. Maybe he's just having an off day?" I ask. Caroline taps on my shoulder just as the doors of the classroom open. I turn around to see a somber Lily Potter running towards us, out of breath and agitated.

"Geez, Rose! You could at least be a little easier to find!" she shouts. A few people turn their heads so I tell her to shush. She huffs at me.

"Why'd you come to get me, Lily? Why not later?" I ask. She rolls her eyes.

"Hugo said it was important that you know that your parents are furious at you." She pauses to eye someone who came a little too close to her, and I roll my eyes. "Because you didn't tell them that you're a champion."

I inwardly tense. "Yeah, well, they never told me about the championship, so why should I tell them I'm a champion? It seems fair to me."

Lily seems to know that I'm freaked, because she pats my shoulder and says, "Rosie, don't hide things like this." Whether she's talking about my fear or the fact that I didn't tell my parents, I have no clue. "Write them at break and I'm sure you'll get a letter by tonight."

She turns to leave with a final swish of her hair. Just as she's about to turn the corner, she shouts over her shoulder, "Beware of howlers!" then disappears.

"Shit," I say, walking into the classroom with Pamela, who had enough grace to wait for me. " I completely forgot to write to them…. Or anyone at all, for that matter. How important do you think it is to them?"

"Rose," Pamela sighs, "your family all works at the Ministry. Your father and uncle and who knows who else probably helped orchestrate the whole thing. Your mum probably came up with the idea. I think they'd be _kind of_ excited that their daughter made champion."

We take a seat at a table with Lorcan, Caroline, and Albus. I try and refrain from biting my nails in worry. "So, do you think they'd have freaked out about this more than they freaked about the Head Girl badge?"

Pamela pulls out her wand from behind her ear and twirls it in her fingers. After a while, she turns to me and smiles lightly. "They probably forgot all about your badge after hearing this news, Rosie."

Despite the horror I feel at the possible anger my dad is holding inside him (probably reserved, as Lily said, for a howler), Pamela has cheered me up considerably. She always seems to know what to say when I'm worried.

It's halfway through a very interesting lesson about the magical properties of prime numbers (the Arithmacy teacher, Professor Huggins, is being unusually lively for such an old man), I realize what my parents also might have heard in recent months.

I was sharing a common room with Scorpius Malfoy. And they _would not_ be happy.


	5. Chapter Five

XX

I decide (despite the protest of my growling stomach) to skip lunch. Having not had any breakfast either, I tell myself that I will gorge during dinner to make up for it. My stomach seems to take no solace in that thought. It growls and growls, and I feel slightly sick as nerves begin to add to the feeling.

What will my parents say? I've thought about them, sure, but my mind has been so full of things I've been too preoccupied to even think of writing to them. I suppose being champion would be a big deal to them…. They probably designed some of the competition, after all.

I go up to the owlry to write the letter. I like the smell; it's musty, despite the owl droppings, and smells distinctly like it has just rained. It calms me slightly, but not enough. My hands are shaking as I sit down to write the letter.

I manage to write down 'Dear Mum and Dad,' before there is a thumping on the stairs. It seems someone else thought it was a good idea to come up at this time, too….. Although they probably have a nice full stomach. I feel slightly aggravated. I can't exactly say why.

A boy in my year appears in the doorway. It's Jomo Haviar, one of Al's best friends. Al has always suggested we get together, and he isn't the only one. Lots of people claim we'd be the perfect couple. Like me, Jomo has dark red hair that looks brown on occasion. We're both almost the same shade of dark olive. He has a spattering of large dark freckles across the bridge of his nose. He could be a Weasley if he weren't so dark….. But, I suppose I'm just as dark, and I'm still a Weasley. He always reminds me that I'm an outcast among the red-haired freckled beings of my cousin. It might be why I never took much of an interest in him.

"Howdy, Rosie," he says. He flashes me a brilliant white smile. Unlike me, he's in Slytherin, and just about as sly as you can get. He seems to never have taken an interest in me, likewise.

"Hi Jomo," I say back. He takes his letter and picks out a dark brown school owl. Once it's set off, he plunks himself beside me with a smirk. I snort at him.

"I just figured you'd want some company," he says. He looks by my side and his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. "Holy crow, Weasley! Is that owl yours?"

I look by my side. Sure enough, there's Rabbles, clicking his golden beak with indignation. I didn't notice him until now, but he looks a lot fatter than when I last saw him . "Hogwart's rats suiting you well, Rabs?"

I stroke his head, much to the astonishment of Jomo.

"Is he really yours?" he asks. I nod happily. Rabbles is, after all, stunning.

"Wow. That's a right special bird you have there, Weasley."

I nod again, but he doesn't say anything else. I stroke Rabbles for a while, which calms me considerably. Its only when Rabbles closes his golden eyes in contentment that I realize I have an unwritten letter in front of me.

"Whatcha writin'?" Jomo asks.

"A letter."

"No way!"

I laugh. "Yeah, my parents are mad that I never told them I was a champion."

"Hm. Bit of a big thing to let slip, eh?"

"I don't need reminding."

I sigh deeply. This whole thing is a lot more trouble than it's worth. I dip my quill and begin writing, forgetting that Jomo is reading over my shoulder. I suppose I must have been a little self conscious, though, because when I read it through the letter includes a lot less 'sorrys' than it should.

This is what it says:

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I'm sorry I didn't write. I suppose that was bad in itself, but you must be really angry that I never told you about me being champion. This year's been too busy to write much, but even now there's not much to say. I'm champion. So is Anna Macmillan, Lorcan, and Scorpius Malfoy. I don't know what the first task is. I'm guessing you do, though…. Any chance you'll tell me? I know you'll say it's an 'unfair advantage', but it's only fair as it seems the Weasley/Potter family were the only ones who didn't know that there was even going to be a tournament. So….could you tell me? I can keep a secret!_

_No, dad, I don't have a boyfriend. And yes, mum, I'm excelling in all my classes. We have a transfiguration project where we will learn how to transform into animals. But I'm assuming you already know this. Mum probably helped invent the spell._

_I really don't see how you two could be angry. I mean, sure, I didn't tell you, but you knew already! There's not much more information that I can offer. Despite the fact that I'm scared senseless. But I suppose you could have guessed that, as Uncle Harry was among the 'four' champions during your time at school. Tell him I'll happily take tips. Or am I not allowed to even ask questions involving anything anymore?_

_Anyways, love you both, as always,_

_Rose_

_P.S. Scorpius is Head Boy._

_P.P.S. There is absolutely no need to go over sexual precautions in your next letter, as there is no chance of me ever wanting a ferret._

"Since when was Malfoy a ferret?" Jomo asks. I asked him to read my letter and see how it sounded, although he'd probably read it all while I was writing it.

"Since my parents and uncle saw Malfoy Senior turn into one," I reply. The image of a miniature Draco Malfoy turning into a ferret always makes me laugh. It seems too good to be true.

"So how is it?" I ask again.

"Fine, I guess. I don't see how they could be mad either." But there is just a hint of sarcasm in his voice when he says it.

Jomo shakes his head like a dog and stands. He waves goodbye to me and heads down the stairs. I stare after him for a while before I turn to Rabbles and pat him awake. I tie the letter to his leg and send him away. I can't seem to clear my head, even long after the golden bird has gone from the horizon. I make my way to the charms classroom, trying to clear my thoughts, but with no success.

I seem to me more muddled than usual as of late.

XX

Two days later, the reply to my letter comes via the morning route.

_Dear Rose,_

My hand, which had been previously occupied by petting Rabbles, halts. No 'Rosie' means not a nice letter.

_We are both extremely disappointed in you for not writing to us. We heard garbled versions of the events that passed at Hogwart's, such as you being selected for the championship, and the new Transfiguration project (which I took no part in inventing a spell for). But we would have much rather heard it from you. I'm sorry to say that your father even refuses to gloat at work, which is a sure sign that he is very, very upset._

I skim over the next three paragraphs, which include mostly the certain things I could have done to ensure that they were informed. _At least show some pride in being selected!_ comes up multiple times.

_Your father, among other things, just about fell off his chair when he learned that Scorpius Malfoy was your fellow Head. Even if you weren't proud of it, you could have at least told us! While I won't give you any relationship warnings, I want to tell you now that a Malfoy is not to be trusted. While they may have changed for the better, you have no idea was Draco Malfoy might be feeding that boy. Just be warned, Rose. His son is probably as sly as the snake himself._

_I can't tell you anything about the championship. But Harry is happy to give you some advice, and a letter from him should be coming along sometime soon._

_We both love you very much, Rosie. Just please, please write more._

_Lots of love,_

_Mum (and dad)_

Oddly, I felt nothing towards the letter. I was too full of busywork and thoughts to really care. They were disappointed, but it was not the first time. I hadn't told them something. It's not like I failed a class. If nothing else, the letter took a large weight off my shoulders.

"Geez, Rosie," Al says as he reads the letter over my shoulder. "Well, at least they didn't send a howler."

"Oh, I'm sure Dad was considering it," I say.

"No," Hugo butts in, "he was probably going to send one, but mum held him down with some kind of superhuman chains."

We laugh. "He's probably just mad that I live in the same room as Scorpius."

"What, do you guys sleep together or something?" Al snorts. He can be so immature.

"No! And that's the problem; we hardly even see each other! I have no idea what mum and dad hate him so much for, but I don't really give a damn."

"You hate him too, though, right?" Hugo asks. He looks very curious.

"I—of course! But that's because he's infuriating, not because he has a bad reputation—"

"—But he has that, too," Al cuts in.

"Yeah, that's all my parents base the hate on. He could be a freaking saint, but that doesn't matter to them!"

"I suppose."

"He's the son of Draco Malfoy, grandson of Lucius Malfoy, so he's automatically an evil little thing!"

"Geez Rosie, don't start defending the guy. He's still evil," Hugo says. I calm myself.

I guess this whole pretending to like him has already caught up with me. "Well, I'm just sick of my parents involvement up to this point. I'll be happy when I finally get a flat in London, far away from them."

"Yeah, but you'll see mum and dad at the Ministry, won't you?" Al asks. I sigh at his ignorance on the subject.

"Well, I'll be working for the Unspeakables, won't I? I'll never see them."

Last year I decided it was my ambition to become an Unspeakable. I applied in good spirits, as my Uncle Percy (however rude) was Secretary to the Minister and handled all the applications for the department. I was not disappointed. I got the job, and I was to report to the Ministry right after summer.

Most of my family is glad that I didn't turn out to work in the Weasley joke shop, like most of my cousins increasingly become interested in. While my mum would have liked me to be in her department, she's happy nonetheless. My dad….well, he wouldn't give a damn if I was Hagrid's slug keeper, so long as I was happy.

I found it slightly odd that my dad didn't care for my happiness now. I was fine. I wasn't involved with Scorpius. And even if I was with him, it would probably be him who accepted it first. Or, so I think it would. My dad usually puts my happiness first. But could old prejudice stand in the way of that?

I finish my breakfast in silence. I let Rabbles (who has been sitting here the whole time munching on toast) finish up, then I pat him goodbye. A few people watch him in glee as he flies out, glittering in the morning sun.

Maybe the letter has taken a load off my shoulders. Maybe it's just added to my stress. Whatever it's done, it is immediately pushed to the very back of my mind as I depart. I have so much homework I can hardly breathe. I may drown in all the work.

XX

While other lessons are continuing to grow ever more gruesome in terms of our workload, I can't help but feel that our Transfiguration project is a lot more trouble than it's worth. I mean, sure, I guess it will be fun to turn into an animal. I've always thought that would be one of the cooler advantages of being a witch. But really, whenever I'm not working on homework from other classes, I'm looking up animals and their characteristics in tattered old books that no one ever used until now.

Even worse than this is the looming prospect of the upcoming task. Even if it isn't the fear of dying that courses through me night and day, it's the fear of what this all means. For me, winning this championship means everything. I want to win. I want to come out of this a winner, and prove to myself that I am one.

It's no surprise that I have uttered a little more than five words to anyone in these past two months. They eventually learn not to bother me, assuming this is another one of 'those years' when I do nothing but study. Most of them, from previous years, know that I can't take any more than necessary. If my busy work schedule is bothered by my social life, I usually break down. And with the first task only five days away, I am very near breaking down.

For now, my work is over with. I'm glad it's Sunday. Despite the coldness in the air that is associated with the ominous prospect of autumn, the warm fire in the hearth of the common room is doing wonders for my nerves. I might just sleep here, watching the twinkling embers as they die away slowly into the night…

"Skipping out on your homework, eh?" comes a voice. I don't need to turn around to know it's Scorpius, currently the bane of my existence. Despite the raging argument we had, I think we're both determined for everything to go back to normal. It helps in a way, because the burning hatred between us is back, however dwindled it may be.

I've convinced myself that the whole cold spell we had was due to our pretend 'relationship'. Playing games must affect us in some way, right?

"If you must know," I snap, irritated that he interrupt such a peaceful moment. "I finished it all. How about you? Have you finished all your work?"

The question was meant to be accusatory, but it comes out friendlier than I wanted. He seems to take this as an invitation and comes to sit beside me on the leather couch, nearly crushing my feet in the process.

"I finished it yesterday," he says, and his voice is too affable for my liking. "If you must know."

I want to sneer at him, but I don't really want him to ruin my perfect moment. Maybe if I just let him be friendly I can relax for a bit.

"So," he begins, ignoring my back to him, "have you any idea what the first task is?"

"No," I answer coldly.

"Me either. My father refuses to tell me what it is."

Daddy not giving little Scorpius what he wants? Wow. That's a shocker. I am almost tempted to say this aloud, but I stop myself just in time. Uncle Harry wrote a short letter of advice to me last month; barely anything, really, but it said that with each task I would be worried and afraid, but I mustn't let the nerves take over my mind. He said to keep focused, and rely on friends. But really I thought it is bogus.

"I hope it's not a dragon," he says, with true fear (from what I can tell) in his voice. "I hate dragons."

"Considering your father's name means 'dragon', you have good reason to," I joke. I can't really help it, I suppose.

"Yes well," he sighs sarcastically, "That's one reason. But you can't forget the scaly hides and fire breath."

"My, my. I never thought you'd be afraid of anything!"

"Ah, well however brave and amazing I am, Rose, you must remember even I have to be a normal wizard on occasion."

I scoff, barely able to contain my disbelieving tone. "I can't imagine you as a normal wizard, Scorpius. You're just too amazing."

He ignores my voice, which is practically dripping with sarcasm. "Well, my family thinks the same. I suppose I have to live up to so much, so I'm naturally amazing." He smiles haughtily at me.

I snort in laughter.

I'm about to say something, maybe even get into a discussion about parents and fathers, but I stop myself. Somehow, this doesn't feel right to me. First I try and not hate him, and now I'm telling myself to stop being friendly? I don't want to be either right now. Something about this, right now, feels unwelcoming. Plus I don't really like the prospect of 'family talk' ever since the night we fought about just that.

"I'm going to go take a bath," I say. I don't really want to leave my warm place by the fire, but I need to think alone for a while. Scorpius has quite suddenly become more than an unwelcome figure in this room… It's something I can't really explain.

He nods at me. I catch a hint of regret in his eyes, but he covers it almost immediately when he looks back at the fire. Why would he want me here, anyways? Oh yeah. That's right. We're trying to manipulate each other into losing this whole tournament thing. Bugger.

I trudge up the marble staircase into the glorious white bathroom. Now that I think about it, a bath does sound nice. I turn on three faucets, which I know to be roses, cinnamon, and spice. An odd combination, but I love the smell it creates. I inhale deeply as I strip down and prepare to dive in.

For a moment I just look at the water. For longer than I care to remember, I have loved swimming more than anything. While Quidditch is a close second, it can't beat the feeling that swimming gives me. Almost like flying, but without a stick beneath you. I used to perform bubblehead charms before I was even aloud a wand and swim in the pond in our backyard. When my mother found out, she just about had a stroke. But I suppose I could care less. There is nothing more blissful than swimming in a cool, clean pool, completely alone and at peace.

I dive into the blistering hot water and sigh. I already feel rejuvenated. Instead of sorting out my problems, I swim underwater until I am forced to come up for breath again. Feeling like I did when I was younger, I climb from the water and dive in, again and again until I am too tired to do it anymore. Maybe I'm not really as young as I used to be. I sigh and sit along the side of the bath, breathing in the scents and watching the glistening bubbles as they slowly die away…

When I wake up, the bubbles have turned to a smoky film on top of the water, and I am floating on my back in the middle of the pool. Huh. Maybe the water is magical and doesn't allow you to sink? The water is still warm and wonderful. I just might stay in here for the night… But I guess the magical qualities will die off eventually. I ponder this as I get out of the water and grab a soft white towel from the shelves, humming happily to myself.

I am about to comb out my hair in the mirror when I see something reflected behind me. I am so completely shocked to see Scorpius standing by the door, I yelp and jump backwards into the water again. What the _hell_ is he doing in here? Coming to spy on me?

Maybe, if I stay under long enough he will think I've died and leave me. But no. I am so furious all I manage to do is come up to the surface and splutter indignantly for almost a minute before he stops me.

"I thought you died," he says. And, to my shock and delight, I can see his pale cheeks pinking at my outrage. He has the shame to avert his eyes from the water, even though I am clinging the sopping wet towel around me anyways.

"You didn't have to come in and check!" I scream. "You could have at least knocked!"

"I did!" he replies, looking at me directly. "I knocked at least four times, but there was no response! Sorry for wanting to make sure you were okay!"

This comment hits me. Maybe he's just playing, but he really does sound like he sincerely cares about me. This could all be another part of his games. It would be a perfect opportunity to act hero. After all, he was the one who started this whole thing…maybe he's just a lot more serious about it than I am. I am so convinced this is the reason, I decide to play back.

"Really?" I whisper. Without thinking, I rise from the water with my towel wrapped tightly around me. I take three steps towards him, so that now there is only a good two feet between us. "That was very sweet of you."

He seems to regain his usual nerve at this. His eyes flicker to life and his blush dies away. He smirks and says, "Yes, and it was very sweet of you to be standing in full view when I entered."

He grins even wider, like he's won something, but I only stare. I force the blush that is threatening to rise away, because I have to play this exactly right.

"How much did you see?"

"Just the entire upper half of your body."

"Oh?" He must have come in when I was standing behind the divider, grabbing a towel. I _almost_ yelp at his comment, but manage to hold it in. Scorpius saw me half naked? That was _definitely_ not something I intended to happen this year. Or ever.

"You know, you should go around like that more often."

"Oh?" Shit. Think of something smart to say _right now._

"Yes, you should. You've got to stop hiding behind those baggy robes. They do nothing to add to your appearance."

"And I'm supposed to take fashion advice from the biggest man whore in the school?"

There we go. There's the smartass girl I know.

However, he merely grins. Not a great sign.

"Well," he says, looking me up and down. I feel naked under his gaze, which I practically am. "If you must know, if I am a man whore, you have to have the nicest body out of all the girls I've ever seen."

"Oh, so you have x-ray vision now?" I snap. "It's not really that hard. Most of those girls hardly wear any clothes, anyways."

"You were the one who suggested I was a man prostitute."

"You don't have to be a whore to know that almost every girl is a slut."

We're whispering now. The fire between us is crackling with electricity, and I can almost feel it running in my veins, making my hair stand on end. There is a little more than three inches between us. If I were to close this distance, would he kiss me? I'd probably bite him.

" _You_ aren't," he whispers dramatically low, "And that just makes me want you more."

I splutter stupidly. This conversation has veered dramatically off track. Are we still playing a game? Because if we are, this fire between us feels very real.

"Why would you want me?"

His eyes widen in disbelief. "Rose, haven't you noticed the way the guys look at you? You're unreachable. Every guy in this school would give their wand to have you." He pauses, somehow moving closer. "Including me."

So he does want me. And I have absolutely no idea what I want. My mind is reeling at the thought of kissing him, my body burning from the flames, my lips itching at the prospect of meeting another. Do I want this? If I weren't pretending to be seductive and flirtatious, would I want to kiss Scorpius? I can't decipher the answer in my buzz of thoughts, but I know the answer to the question in dreamland. But this is all pretend… I have to keep reminding myself of that.

"You better wish harder, then," I whisper. He is nearing. Slowly, as if time has slowed us to a standstill, I fight against the force of gravity between us. This is just a game! There is no reality here, no fire of passion, just hatred! I almost feel the hatred rise up at this, as if outraged at what we're about to do. It licks my lips and encloses my body in the last moments before we close on each other.

But we do not close our skin. Somehow, kissing between us is so forbidden it's almost dangerous. There is no possibility, no matter how much we both want it. And I want it badly. I turn my head so our lips are breathing into the other's ear, and it's almost like kissing in itself. Oh, this inferno that surrounds us is nothing, _nothing,_ compared to this. It's like breathing white flames, it hurts so badly.

Delicious, these flames. Like their forcing my sweet-smelling bath water to ferment between our ferociously beating hearts. Oh, the feral quality of this moment. It's like we're both fighting for a dominance that neither of us will ever obtain. All of this is in no movements, in no words, in no contact, simply breaths. My mind is going fuzzy with the thoughts of the boy before me, his sugar-coated lips, fumes and flames rising beneath us. Is this what dying feels like? Because I don't think I would mind so much if I died, right now, and burst into ashes among this inferno.

We go on and on and on with nothing. Our bodies never touch, our hands never collide, as if we know this would be our breaking point. The only thing that separates us from crossing the line is the looming tomorrow….what this will bring, what it will change. What it would do if our bodies truly connected. But now, my mind is blank except for this moment.

"Rose," he whines. It really is a whine. Like he's begging for more, begging to stop, begging to go until the end of it all. Before I can even process that name, coming from his lips, I am running down the stairs with my soggy towel and running back up them to my room. I throw open the balcony, letting the cold night air wash over my face, forcing my mind to clear and the fire to quell.

"What the _hell?"_ I whisper. I am terrified at what I have just done. That was not a game. That was not dreamland. That was real, and Scorpius and I both know it. Even if he's never liked me, even if this is and always will be a game to him, he'll never be able to deny the passion that flowed in a current between us just moments ago.

I have never felt anything like that before.

And it is this thought that scares me the most.

If I am to come out of this a winner, conquer the rest and live my life a winner, no matter what, then I cannot let him win this game between us. Right now, I can't figure out what winning this competition purely between us will accomplish, but I know I have to win it. I have to win this tournament, more than anything, I have to beat him.

So, come morning, I will find if I can pretend a little longer.

As I crawl into bed an hour later, I can't help but wonder if I can stand to pretend any longer.

This fire may burn me down before I can even see the warning smoke.

XX

When I wake up in the morning, I am enveloped in the smell of cinnamon and roses. I choke on it, inhaling the floral sweetness of roses and the fiery spice of cinnamon in burning breaths. They slip and slide through my throat like slime, and they taste so harsh and wrong on my tongue. This is what was between me and him last night. This, and a sodden towel that now lies on my floor with a water stain around it. I will never be able to smell these things and not be reminded of what happened last night.

"Rose?" comes a voice at my door. I guess my coughing fit has alarmed him, because he comes right in without even knocking once.

"So, do you just think knocking is above you or something?" I bark. "Because I'm beginning to think that you didn't even knock last night."

"Yeah, well," he sighs sarcastically, "I never had to knock before; I don't see why I should now."

His words boil in me, an anger I cannot suppress, so I get out of bed. I get out of bed and I slap him, fury in my eyes. "I can't _believe_ you dared to do what you did last night."

He looks slightly shocked at the slap, but he recovers quickly. "In case you forgot, you were the one that brought us so _close."_

"In case you forgot, you're the one who barged in and saw me naked!" I yell. My back is pressed up against the wall, Scorpius before me, his eyes angry and passionate, but at the same time hurt.

"I was _worried!"_ he yells. "If you didn't flirt so heavily, nothing would have happened!"

"Nothing did happen!" I yell in denial. I so want it to be that way, but even I know it's not true.

He clenches his teeth closed, the fury in his eyes lighting up in indignation. "You can _pretend_ you hate me, Rose. But you can't _pretend_ you didn't feel anything last night. Whatever happened was _real,_ and it has consequences, whether you like it or not."

Maybe he just doesn't want me to deny that there was something there. He may want me to feel something because he felt something himself. But the more likely reason is that he wants me to fall for him and forget the real competition. That's the consequence I'm facing, losing, not that I may fall for him irreversibly.

"I'm not the only one who has consequences, Scorpius," I whisper. As I turn to go, heading out the door to the bathroom, I say over my shoulder in one last hope of making him fail, "You felt it, too."

XX


	6. Chapter Six

  


_This fire rising through my being  
Burning _

_I'm not used to seeing you_ __

I can feel you all around me  
Thickening the air I'm breathing  
Holding on to what I'm feeling  
Savoring this heart that's healing 

My hands float up above me  
And you whisper you love me  
And I begin to fade  
Into our secret place 

Take my hand  
I give it to you  
Now you own me  
All I am

 _You said you would never leave me  
I believe you_

-Flyleaf, All Around Me

**I thought those lyrics fit rather well. I hope all of my wonderful (and few) reviewers have enjoyed the story so far. I would like to thank my wonderful editor, xakemii, who has been an amazing editor and great friend. Unfortunately, something has come up and she won't be able to do my edits, so from here on out it's just my eyes until I can find someone to replace her. If any of my readers are willing to edit, please PM me. If not, con-crit is greatly appreciated!**

**Now onto—Chapter Six!**

**XX**

"Rose," Al says matter-of-factly after a few moments of silence, "you look like you died."

"Tell me about it, Al," I say. The great hall is buzzing with excitement, as the first task is tomorrow morning. Every day, I have been growing increasingly more agitated and running on littler and littler sleep. Lorcan places his hand on mine from across the table, squeezing it reassuringly. I smile a little at him. At least I know he understands.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you being serious right now?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, the first task can't be scaring you that badly, can it?"

"It's not that I'm scared…. I just want to know what I have to do."

"Well, bravery in the face of the unknown is one of Gryffindor's qualities. So, that would be why they never told you," Lorcan cuts in from across the table.

"But what if I completely fail the task? Then I won't really be a true Gryffindor."

"Yeah, you will, Rose. You'll just be more of a nerdy Ravenclaw after that." Al smiles at his own joke.

It's meant jokingly, but I fall silent after this comment. What if I really do lose this task? It is Gryffindor's, after all. If I was really meant to be in Ravenclaw….

It's been a few years since I considered the happenings during my sorting. I remember being insanely nervous, remembering my dad's words about being disinherited if I was in Slytherin, and wondering if I really would be put in Ravenclaw. Where you were placed in the houses was a lot less important now than it was twenty years ago, but it still gave me chills to think of my father's reaction if I was placed in any house except Gryffindor.

When the hat was placed on my head, I immediately felt it flinch and say, " _Another_ Weasley, eh?" At first I thought this was a bad thing, but it seemed amused when it said the words. "You're tricky, you are. Very clever, I see. Ambition like no other. Seeking acceptance. Yes, you would do fine in Gryffindor."

I sighed with relief at this. But the hat wasn't done yet. "Oh, but you are very tricky, you are. Ravenclaw would help you on your path to brilliance."

If this was not enough to scare me, it then said something even worse. "Oh? What's this? A slight hint of cunning, I sense. You could do great things in Slytherin…."

I chant 'not Slytherin' in my head until the hat finally gives in my puts me in Gryffindor, just as Uncle Harry did when he was sorted. Just this small notion that I have some Slytherin quality in me scared me out of my wits. I haven't thought about this for years….

"I wouldn't mind having you in Ravenclaw," Lorcan says kindly. I smile at him. At least he doesn't determine my fate on whether I win or not.

I am determined not to ponder what the first task holds for the remainder of the day. I busy myself in the small amount of work the teachers give us, due to the fact that they don't want to overload us with the task just a day away. Still, it is this that enables me to keep my mind clear and my head cool. I don't want to lose it over this task. There are still three more tasks after this, and I have to win at least two of them.

I catch some of the teacher's giving me pity looks, or sometimes even coming up to me to wish me luck. Do they know what I will have to face? If they do, none of them mention it. I assume it won't be life threatening, because none of them are making bets on my life yet.

"Rose," Professor Haas calls after class one day, "can I speak with you?"

I tell Pamela that I will meet up with her at dinner. She nods and leaves without another word. I can't help but wish she would stay.

"Yes, Professor?" I say. She has never looked more intimidating, even when she gives a warm smile.

"The Headmistress would like to talk with you tonight. Pass this information onto Scorpius, if you will. I will tell Anna and Lorcan myself." I turn to leave, but she puts a small hand on my shoulder. "Good luck, Rose."

I walk out of the room with my heart pounding in my chest. Will I finally know what the first task is tonight? I am so preoccupied with this thought I barely notice my feet carrying me up to my room, ignoring my growling stomach.

"Rose?"

I look up from watching my feet. Scorpius is just coming out of the portrait hole (the portrait which, to my amazement, has been completely ridden of all her ugly scratches, even if she's still quite ugly). He looks surprised to see me up here, as I usually never lounge about in places where I'm likely to meet him. And this is one of those places. I brush past him, seriously considering not telling him about the meeting tonight.

"No dinner for you, huh?" he asks. I walk straight into the common room and plunk myself down on the couch. I don't think I have the energy to walk up to my room right now, even if it means avoiding him.

After a few minutes, Scorpius comes back in and sits beside me. It seems he isn't hungry, either.

"What's up?" he asks, seeing my face. "Did someone die?"

"No, you ass," I say. Because I can't help it. He is being so annoyingly nice, so friendly, it's sickening me. I'm beginning to think that the fire between us may just die out after all.

"No need to be a bitch, Weasley," he huffs. Now he is back to his usual haughty demeanor, and I love it. I turn to him and give him a sarcastic smile.

"The Headmistress wants to see us tonight," I say, "about the task."

He looks at me strangely for a while, then says, "So, is this why you were cursing at me?"

I laugh a little. This hatred, this passion, is just about the only thing I can deal with for now. In fact, it's the only thing I want to deal with.

"No. I'm just in a bad mood."

"Is it because of me?"

"No. Why would it be because of you?"

"You called me an ass, and you're being—"

"No, no. It's not your fault. I'm the one being the ass."

"It's okay."

And in what could only be about fifty words out of our mouths, this politeness in seeping into our voices and locking into our lungs. We breathe it in the air. It sits there and quivers, and I know what has to happen next.

_Have you ever predicted something even before you knew what you were doing in the_ current _moment? It's like you see this vision, and you live in this vision, and you don't even process that you are silently leading yourself to that future. I saw my next move. I saw_ our _next move. Because these polite tones and kind words were unbearable, like raw and peeling flesh that we were desperate to get rid of. And how do we get rid of repulsive scabs, you ask? We burn them._

We must either fight, light the fire between us, and let it burn us in immeasurable hatred. Or we must kiss and touch, and fall into what can only be an endless abyss of passion, irrevocable flames, and absolutely no turning back. The former will hurt, like it always does, burning for a while and then falling into just another scar. But the latter will light an inferno so great, it will burn us for years. If this is even real. I may not know if our 'passion' for each other isn't just a false pretense, but I know our hatred has always been real.

So I light the flame, the true flame, and what follows is painful.

"So your dad never told you about the task, then?" My voice is foul and uncalled for. Even though my words aren't rude, they bring up memories neither of us want to remember.

He turns to leave in a flurry of robes. I grab his arm before he can get far, and I am vaguely aware that I am being very, very cruel. I want to watch this boy suffer. Why? I can only say it's because I would rather harm him than harm myself by falling for him. I can tell that he feels weak beneath my hand. His muscles quiver in a cauldron of emotions.

"So you aren't such a spoiled boy, after all?" My words are so full of venom I can feel it in burning my throat.

He doesn't respond. His eyes speak for themselves.

"I _hate_ you."

"YOU WERE THE ONE WHO WANTED TO BE MY FRIEND AT THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR, MALFOY!"

I am shaking worse than him. I am _trembling,_ and the combined quaking between us makes me feel like there's an earthquake going on around us. I am still gripping his arm as tight as I can. I want him to fucking _bleed._

"Yeah, well, you shot that down, didn't you?"

"Why can't you just feel a fucking _emotion_ for once?"

"I'm full of them!"

"No, you're not! You're a rock, Malfoy! YOU'RE A FREAKING ROCK!"

Breath upon bated breath. There is electricity crackling in the air, and it's not the good kind.

"So, if I told you I hated you, that's not an emotion, is it?"

"That's all you ever feel! Hatred! That you're just too damn _good_ for anyone!"

"So, if I told you I was fucking head over heels in _love_ with you, you wouldn't believe it?"

We are such children, screaming like this. Maybe if we whisper in secret tones we will sound more mature. But screaming at a face feels _so much better_ than screaming into a pillow. I don't want to stop. And I won't.

"I'll _never_ believe it! You've never shown a fucking emotion in your pathetic _life,_ Scorpius."

"Fine. Don't believe it! That's your stupid problem, _Rose!_ You're too fucking self-centered to trust _anyone!"_

"I trust everyone! I just don't trust you!"

"No? Well, you believe me when I tell you I hate you!"

"Because you practically _overflow_ with the emotion!"

"Yeah, well you might want to learn the truth before you go believing things!"

He yanks his arm away from my trembling hand. My ears are ringing. I feel so _high_ right now, like nothing could ever touch me. Not a word of insults has hit me, yet he is wounded from my words. He deserves all of it. Every hateful word, this cold, cold moment between us…..everything. He deserves to know only hatred. He fucking deserves _all_ of it.

As he mounts his staircase I see it. The welt on his arm, in the shape of my hand, dripping blood.

I reach the bathroom just in time. I throw myself into the sink, vomiting, and I think that even this cannot hurt me. It's just me pumped up. There is too much adrenaline in my system, and my body is trying to get rid of it.

I think this for a moment. But then, I realize with a gagging sob, my body cannot rid itself of this sudden onslaught of emotions.

I can't remember his words at all, but I know what hurt they bring.

I cry all through the night for both my words and his.

XX

"Rose!"

"Rose, goddammit, wake up!"

"You'll miss the first day!"

"Fuck, Weasley, you sleep like a rock."

Cold water splashes violently over my face. I snap up and scream loudly, opening my eyes to find Scorpius standing at my bedside, wand pointed, looking annoyed.

"What the _hell?"_ I yell.

I jump up out of bed, about to punch every inch of his godforsaken face, before I realize he is not even reacting. His face is passive. His eyes hollow. Somehow, it looks as if he could care less if I beat him up.

"What?" I ask, annoyed. I _want_ him to react. I'm soaked and late, and all he can do is stand there and look forlorn. This is not the Malfoy I know.

This is not the Scorpius I want.

I move backwards into the bed, pulling the sheets up to my neck. I shiver under both his long gaze and the cool air around me.

"Out," I say quietly, pointing a trembling hand at the door. He turns and leaves easily, and I somehow manage to make the door slam behind him, even though my wand is nowhere near me….

Our argument last night was terrible. But we've fought worse than that before, despite that one being close to the worst. He should be fine with it all. Unless…. Well, unless he's just trying to get my pity, to try and make me do what we did two nights ago.

Oh, and on top of that, the task is today. This _morning,_ actually. I'm glad he woke me up, but furious at his tactics. I don't even want to face him. My hate for him is passionately renewed after last night's argument…. But with this morning I now feel something different. A longing, not to apologize, but to tell him I didn't mean what I said. That I am sorry, and I _want_ to do again what we did two nights ago.

As I dress, I try and remember Professor McGonagall's instructions. She said that we would not be facing anything life threatening, but we will be fighting an 'inner battle'. Whatever that means, I had no time to think of. Between keeping my distance from Scorpius and trying to remember the instructions and size up my competition and figure out what I'm going to do if I _do_ face a dragon (because this is supposed to be 'bravery in the face of the unknown' and if the Professor lies then it's unknown, right?), I have no time to think about what the hell an 'inner battle' means.

I dress in comfortable pants and a red shirt, symbolizing Gryffindor. This is his task. And if I don't win this, what will it mean?

**XX**

**I'd like to apologize for this..um…well, this very, very horrible chapter. It's cliché and overthetop, I know.**


	7. Chapter Seven

  
**Thankfully, I now have a _new_ fabulous editor, Iforever4, who has been more than awesome with the edits and has gone above and beyond helping me out. She's also a great fan, so props for her!**

**Now, on with the story, and on with…(drum roll please)…. The First Task!**

XX

Down in the Great Hall, I am inches away from passing out when I see my parents. And Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. And Grandma and Grandpa Weasley. And James and Lysander and Uncle George and Aunt Angelina…. Just about all my family, taking up a good portion of the Gryffindor table, which looks oddly empty for such a big day. I'm so afraid to approach them. What if my parents are still angry about me not writing? What if my family tells me I just _have_ to win this, because just about all of them have been in Gryffindor. I don't think I can face them.

I'm about to turn around and return to my room, but I spot Victoire and Teddy. And in their arms, surrounded by many admirers, is little Dora.

I forget about all my family for a moment as I race for Dora. I think they notice me, though, because just about everyone rushes forward to hug some part of me. Congratulations are said. Pats on the back are made. I smile weakly and hug as many people as I can, but it's not enough to let me pass. Dora is gone from my sight, and I'm in my dad's arms.

"Rosie! We thought we'd lost you!" he jokes. I smile in his chest, which smells of warm sandalwood and leather. I can't help but melt in his arms, so relieved that he's not mad with me.

I turn to my mum, who is smiling wearily at me, arms crossed across her chest. I give her a big hug, asking, "Why so gloomy, mum? Today's a big day!"

I say these words, not really feeling them myself. I have to make them all happy, though.

"Sorry, Rose. It was a late night and early morning."

I kiss her cheek and she hugs me tighter. When we release each other, most everyone has sat down again. I can't spot Victoire or Dora anywhere, but Teddy sits across from us, so I ask, "Where's blondie one and two?"

He laughs. "Run off to the convention, I reckon."

I smile and look around the table. Grandma Weasley reaches a hand to pat my own, smiling warmly at me. "We're all so proud of you, Rose!"

"Sure are," says Grandpa Weasley, eating a piece of toast with relish. "Molly, I reckon this food could rival even yours. I forgot how good it tasted."

My mother wrinkles her nose, and I know exactly what's coming. "Yes, but this food was manufactured by _slaves,_ Arthur," she says. "House-elves, cooped in the kitchen day and night, not paid a cent—"

There is a collective groan from my father and Uncle Harry. "Please, Hermione!" they both say. Then my dad says, "Don't start!"

Everyone laughs. I'm about to comment on something, put someone taps on my shoulder. I turn around and get a wet kiss on my cheek from none other than Dora, held by Victoire. Victoire giggles at my reaction, which is a large smile and a small squeak.

"Hullo, stranger!" I say. I can hardly recognize Dora. Her hair is a ripe shade of periwinkle blue, and her entire body has at least doubled in size.

"Rose, congrats on getting champion!" Victoire says, bending down to kiss my cheek. I laugh when Dora grunts, and say my thanks.

"I can't believe Dora! She's grown so much!"

"Yeah, well, part of it is the metamorphagus shining through. I was hoping it would skip a generation…."

"Hey!" comes Teddy's voice from across the table. Victoire and I laugh.

"Here, take Dora. She's been out of her mind happy to see you." And without further ado, Dora is plopped into my lap with a squeal of delight. I wrap my arms around her small body, and she immediately latches on to a dangling red curl.

"Vic, I think you have competition," Teddy announces. Most of the table is quiet. "Dora doesn't even like me that much!"

I laugh. Just to add to the point, Dora turns around and buries her face in my chest, shy from all the faces looking at her. Suddenly, I can't stop laughing, and Dora finds it amusing.

Everyone talks casually about their time at Hogwart's. I'm content to be left out of the conversation, as I'm already glad that they haven't turned to asking me about the championship. Dora is bubbly and happy on my lap, playing with my hair, and me with hers. Slowly, her own hair turns the exact shade of red mine is. I gasp.

A few people look our way, and my mum gasps, too. "Oh my goodness! She looks just like a miniature Rose!"

A few of the older people nod in silent agreement. I can almost see the resemblance myself. Her big blue eyes, looking larger with the red hair, stare up at me, and I feel as if I'm staring into a photograph of me as a child. Dora giggles as my wondering stare. I look up and laugh, suddenly feeling lighter than air. I'm ready.

XX

I cannot even begin to imagine what's behind the curtain. The Quidditch arena has been transformed into a rock stadium. That much I know. But I know absolutely nothing else, and it's killing me.

Scorpius is the first contestant. He looks completely overconfident as he enters the arena. I suppose I expected nothing less than that from him, but it bothers me. How can he be so confident? It's not as if it's Slytherin's task. But he enters nonetheless, and a deafening cheer from the sea of people erupts, muffled behind the curtain.

There is very little noise. I can hear the mutterings of the crowd, and I can't help but press my ear against the curtain to hear it better. No one rushes forward to stop me, and for that I am relieved. Anna and Lorcan sit on two chairs, staring at their hands, not nearly as interested in the goings on outside the tent as I am. I am amazed to find that within a few minutes, the crowd erupts again, and this time I'm sure it's in victory. Scorpius has already gotten by.

Anna is next, and I see neither hide nor hair of Scorpius again. Wherever he is, he's won. He's won, and I'm so insanely irked I cannot even see straight. He was barely in the arena for two minutes! He can't have possibly won that fast, no matter what he faced. I suppose Scorpius was more of a Gryffindor than I thought…..

I continue to pace up and down the tent for a good few minutes. Lorcan sits gloomily in the corner, and despite our friendship, I do not approach him. I wait for the cheer….for something. If Anna takes long on this, then I have no hope to win over Scorpius. He was so _fast,_ I—

But then there's the eruption, not three minutes after Anna has entered. Can this task be truly this easy? If it should reassure me, it doesn't. Because I'm next.

I enter the arena when my name is called. For a moment, I am like a deer in headlights. The sun is sickeningly bright compared to my dark circus tent. I put my hand up, trying to get it out of my eyes, trying to be prepared, because I might totally lose thanks to my horrid eyesight—

A noise fit to busting the sound barrier surrounds me, and I immediately react. I jump sky-high, looking around for my competition, wand out and pointed so fast my arm hurts. But there is nothing there. Nothing but the crowd, screaming themselves hoarse. It may be just the curtain that made them seem quiet before. But they are so _loud,_ I am sure that I have the largest cheer so far. If I'm lying to myself, I don't care. I need all the confidence I can get.

I know I have only two minutes to beat Scorpius, so I look around to take in my surroundings. There is nothing but smooth granite around me. It shimmers lightly, like a small lake, and I can't help but admire it.

But no, this may be an enemy itself. I must not become distracted; I need to figure out what to do. Because before me, I have just realized, is a mirror.

I don't know how I couldn't have noticed it before. It's ancient, the old metal chipped away in places, the shiny surface covered with cracks and dirt. But it's beautiful, in a way. There is an odd engraving surrounding it, as well as a large one at the top. It says 'Mirror of Erised' on it.

My breath catches. I know this mirror! …my parents spoke of it! …What does it do again? Oh yes, it will show my heart's deepest desire. I leap forward with eager curiosity and anticipation. But wait, this might be just another distraction. I can't let anything distract me… so I promise not to let what I see get to my head before I open my eyes.

For a moment I am stunned. There is a sea of fire in the mirror, but it's white hot, and I can almost feel the heat billowing off the mirror edge. It takes me a moment to see it, but in the center of the fire, untouched, is me. It's me, my lips locked with a boy, taller than me, with beautiful blonde hair shimmering in the firelight. It looks like Scorpius.

The fire surrounding us is exactly what I feel every time I kiss him. How perfectly it symbolizes us, I cannot even begin to say. I am so enraptured with this image, I do not think to move or do anything at all. All I want to do is stare at this image, this fire, because I know that this is what I want. I want it, and I _hate it._

Before I can even begin to untie myself from the image, it changes. I remain locked with Scorpius, but the heat around us cool to a icy chill. The fire that held in the kiss vanishes, leaving a soft rosy glow behind it. For a while it drifts in the air, like sunset against blue sky, as we entwine closer together. But suddenly the rosy glow turns into an eruption of gold, and I stand with a smile in the center of it all, glowing and happy, and Scorpius stands in the background, watching. I have won the Championship. I have won, and just by looking in my own eyes, I know that this is will hold forever. Winning this….. I am finally a winner to myself, and I no longer have to live up to anything. I have lived up to it all. I hold the Championship Cup, and on my right side is Scorpius, looking jealous and angry, and on my left is Lorcan, holding Dora and smiling happily. I realize just how perfectly they both match. Blonde hair, blue eyes, beautiful faces. The rest of my family is in the background, so happy that I've won…..

I love this mirror. I may just sit here for an eternity. If I can just watch the image of Scorpius and I with the child, and even if I don't really have any of it, I will be satisfied So long as I can watch…

A wave of noise crashes over me. It sounds angry, like a storm is coming. Am I at the beach? I have only ever been there once. The waves make noise almost like this….but less human.

Because there are thousands of people surrounding me, in the stands, all screaming for me to go. I cannot sit here forever. How could I have been so blind?

I run forward, tears in my eyes, not daring to glance at the glorious mirror. I can't believe I wasted so much time! There is absolutely no hope for me now. I cannot win this….. The lovely image of me being champion has been torn from my heart with this recent revelation. I can't go on…

But I must. Because before me, right now, is little Dora. Her small body is sitting in front of a large oak chest, it's door open and full of shadows, her smile as bright as the sun...but… something's different. Her eyes are an evil black rather than ocean blue. Her long fingers, much too long for a child of her size, clasp around the Cup. On it is my name, reading 'Rose Weasley, First Place, House Tournament'. In that cup I see my future, my devotion, and a solace for me from the scrutiny of my family. I see success before me, and my own child is holding it. Yet, while in the cup I see success and a great future, in the child I see something entirely different. In the child I see my future with Scorpius, and it bothers me…. It bothers me because I can never be with him if I want to win in this championship, or if I want to win at all in life.

The child's sharp fingers are elongating around the cup, covering my name, chipping the gold. She sucks on the cup with acid spit, and tears well up in my eyes. My future is rusting before my eyes….

I take out my wand and point it at the child, turning away. I do not want to see her get blown to bits, but I tell myself she is not real. I try out as many spells as I can think of, screaming them over and over again before I hear a small pop. The girl is gone. And once more, I am surrounded by nothing but the glistening rock and the cheering crowd. With that final pop, I feel my future with Scorpius (if there ever even was one) disappear.

In a daze, I make my way towards the gate that separated the crowd and stadium. It seems to be surrounded by a magical force field. I can see the sun ripple slightly against it as I move. It glistens and glitters, and it seems that this is just another thing to distract me. I hope I'm not still being timed. Surely they would stop the clock after I conquered the task?

I suppose it doesn't matter anyways. I will come in dead last, I'm sure of it.

I am pointed by a strange man towards a box. Or, at least it looks like a box from the outside. Inside it is a large comfortable couch and a furry rug. All red. And at the moment, I'm sick of looking at red. I can't bear to see another red thing for the rest of my life.

It seems people can't see inside the box, but I can see out. I watch as Lorcan makes his way out of the large tent on the opposite side of the stadium. Even through the thick walls of my box I can hear the crowd cheering. Lorcan smiles at the glistening rock, then walks brusquely to the mirror. He seems to take haste in moving along, unlike myself. He stares at the mirror for a mere second, his eyes lighting up with fascination, but he quickly moves on. I am so relieved that the mirror remained blank when he looked at it, so glad that no one saw my deepest desire that I do not realize that Lorcan has come face to face with his worst fear.

To my fascination, there is nothing but a large deformed beast before him. It has a long, wrinkled horn on its front, but a relatively tiny body. It's bright red in color, with eyes the size of dinner plates. I have absolutely no name for it. Like my own beast, it seems vile to the core.

Lorcan mutters something under his breath, something I do no catch but immediately know what spell it was by the effect it creates. Amazingly, the beast before him turns into a large blast-ended skrewt, not quite fully grown, but completely shell-less and pink. Despite the fear they caused for me in sixth year, seeing them so exposed is almost comical. Lorcan seems to think so, too.

Riddikkulus. I can't even believe I didn't think of that for myself. It was obviously some form of Boggart. The spell would have easily gotten rid of the beast, instead of trying a thousand different spells and to try and rid of it. I smack my hand to my forehead, completely angry with myself.

Well, Lorcan has obviously won time-wise. It's taken him a little under a minute to finish the task. why was it so hard for me?

Once the scores are announced, I leave my little box to find my family. I'm in last place, obviously, with 18 out of 25. At least I didn't get a zero. Anna came in third, with a 19, then Scorpius with a 21, then Lorcan with a 24. The judges must be tough to not give Lorcan full credit. There was nothing wrong that I could point out.

But of course. The Heads of Houses sit on the judges table, and of course they will try and dock from students not in their own house. I suppose it's kind of unfair, but it is the house tournament, after all. Professor Huggins, Gryffindor's Head, with his long gray beard and wide brown eyes. He's perhaps the most boring of all the judges, and unfortunately probably judged everyone fairly. Professor Woldells, Head of Hufflepuff, is an odd sort of woman. She has round spectacles that make her eyes look three times their size, with white hair that looks like cotton. Professor Ramsey, Head of Ravenclaw, sits politely with his hands folded under his chin. His black hair and beady eyes shimmer in the sun. And Professor Haas, unfortunately Head of Slytherin. Her light brown hair looks golden in the sun, her tan deepening and yellowing. She catches my eye and winks. She probably vouched for me from the beginning.

This news doesn't reassure me, but it doesn't sadden me either. I am so disappointed in myself almost sickening. How am I going to face my family? They will surely all be disappointed in me, too. And worst of all….how am I going to face _him?_

The only person I really want to talk to is Lorcan. He must not know, because when I spot my family from afar, he isn't there. I am in no mood to talk to anyone else. I head up to the Gryffindor common room, congratulations thrown at me from all directions, but I ignore them. I don't deserve it. How could I have failed so miserably? Why did I fail? No one else failed so badly.

Albus is waiting for me outside the portrait hole. If I can't have Lorcan, then he is the second best thing. Before I can stop myself, before I can even begin to care about what others think, I fall into his arms and begin sobbing. He pats my back awkwardly. He's never been very good at stuff like this, but he's tried all the same.

"Rose," he finally says, "Rose, you did fine. No one expected anything from you. You just expected it from yourself."

I allow him to drag me up to his bedroom. He lays me down and sits beside me, letting me soak his pillow, letting me mutter nonsense until my throat's dry. He learned a long time ago how to deal with me, even though it's still not in his nature as a boy.

Maybe I did just expect myself to win. I mean, I can't always come out on top. Maybe this is just a way of karma teaching me a lesson. I'm not always going to win…..

But that just brings me back to point one. I _want_ to win. I _need_ to win, because I'm not always going to. Winning this means everything…. If I win this, I will never have to win again.

"If you care so much about it," Al sighs after a while, "there are still three more tasks you can win."

"B-b-but t-this was G-Gryffindor's t-task!" I blubber. Tears are leaking from my eyes like rain from a storm cloud.

"So what?" Al smiles at me. "We always thought you were more of a Ravenclaw."

This was not the right thing to say, as I cry even harder after that. He pats my back for a while until I finally give into sleep.

Nightmares are frequent in sleep. They consist of that little blonde baby, held by Scorpius, and I know they're both evil. There's something feral in their expressions; their eyes are too dark, too untamed, almost malicious. I fear them more than I fear losing this whole thing. Yet, it switches. I fear them at one point….. Then, unexpectedly it changes. I suddenly fear _losing_ them more than I fear anything else in the world.

When I wake I know that's what the mirror was showing. I wanted them more than anything, more than the cup, more than being a winner. That baby represented a beautiful future….and Scorpius represented my heart's desire. If I was to want to win what I needed to win (which is this _competition,_ not Scorpius) then I needed to have no distractions. No Scorpius. No Scorpius, pretend or not.

XX

**Reviews are appreciated!**

**Chloe**


	8. Chapter Eight

All I can even begin to think about is how immature I’ve been. Blubbering my worries in Albus’s arms was embarrassing to say the least. I can’t even face him now. He sits on the couch next to me, his head in his hand, glasses askew. He’s fast asleep and I hope he stays like that.  
If there was anything I could do to change the past few hours, I would. Maybe I could steal a time turner when I begin working in the Department of Mysteries. It seems even then, years from now, I will feel the nagging in the pit of my stomach. The ridicule and shame will fill me even when I’m old and withering away. Maybe the truth is that it might not even matter in a year, but I don’t give a damn about the truth. I just know that now is perhaps the worst I’ve felt in my entire life.  
I suppose Albus won’t mind if I leave him in peaceful slumber. I get up to leave, but something catches my eye. In the corner couch, next to the flickering fire, is my own father. If I had to face anyone right now, my first choice wouldn’t be him.  
Maybe I can convince him that I’m not completely worthless. My parents are both so accomplished, but they have never compared me or my brother to who they are and what they’ve done. Still, I am constantly in their shadow, trying to outshine the fierce loyalty of my dad and the immeasurable intelligence of my mother.  
To my surprise, he’s awake. His blue eyes feebly flicker open and fall on me. Great. Now I really have no hope of escaping.  
“Hi there, Rose,” he says. His face looks ancient in the firelight.  
I might have been able to mutter a ‘hi’ or ‘hello’, or even a small nod of my head. But I don’t get the chance to do any of these things because before I know it the tears are streaming down my face, and I am falling into my father’s waiting arms.   
“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he says softly. His voice is cracked with sleep, and for some odd reason, it reassures me. Maybe if he’s tired he can’t face me with the full extent of his worries.  
Unlike with Al, I don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed here. I can smell home, thick cinnamon and floral sweetness… It’s warm and thick here, like hot soup, and I know that breathing fresh air is not what I need. I simply need to smell the warm scent of home. Doesn’t every child wish for  home when they’re sad?   
But I’m not a child. I haven’t been a child for a while. Reversed into this state….No, I have been _forced_ into this state of mind. I am not prepared to cry here, yet I’m not prepared to fight it either. It’s so amazing to cry here, holding some part of home, I actually forget  expectations and just let go.  
Dad gives up trying to tell me to stop crying after a few feeble words. I want to cry, and he’s the perfect person to cry on. He doesn’t move his arms awkwardly or pat my back in reassurance. He knows, from years and years of experience, that I simply want to be held. I want to be held in arms that never move, that never falter and never leave. I want to be held by someone familiar, someone who knows my habits and who knows that I _love_ being held like this.   
“Dad?” I finally say. My breathing comes in shallow hiccups, my voice finally recovering. I feel like I’m a balloon, now deflated after letting years of stale air escape from me. It feels amazing.  
“Are you done soaking me?” he jokes. I smile against his soaking sweater.  
“Are you mad at me?”  
“Now, why would I be mad at you, Rosie?”  
“Because I lost.”  
“No one cares.”  
I look up at him. His face seems so sincere and happy; I had to believe him. His words are as true as the stars.  
“You can’t tell me that no one called me a failure.”  
“No one did, Rose. They all thought you did better than any of them could have done.”  
“That’s not true.” I whisper the words, hoping maybe he won’t hear. Because I want his words to be true, but I’m not ready to accept them. I don’t want to think I’ve cried about nothing.  
“Ask them yourself then. You were just fine, Rose. There’re still three more tasks for you to redeem yourself. Today isn’t the end of it.”  
“It feels like it.”  
He sighs happily. “Ah, to be young. You always think it’s the end of the world.”  
I look up into his reminiscing eyes. They’re so blue I think I might drown in them. I’ve inherited those very eyes. Do people feel like swimming inside them when they look at me, too? I always imagine my eyes as two oceans on two separate sides of the world, with small golden islands floating inside them. They look so abandoned, those islands, but in reality they’re only inches away from another side of the world.  
“It never really is.”  
I fall asleep again in my father’s arms. When I wake up I am in my own golden bed, a messy note scrawled on my bedside table. It’s in my father’s hand.  
 _Rosie,_  
 _We’re sorry we didn’t get to say goodbye. Victoire and Teddy are staying one more day because they don’t want Dora to be torn from her godmother just yet! Your mother and I love you very much, and so does just about the rest of the world. Don’t forget to write! I never got to personally yell at you for not writing so you have to pay me back sometime._  
 _Dad_  
 _P.S. Remember, there’s three more tasks left! But really, who cares? I certainly don’t!....but seriously, you better win._  
  
I smile at the note and read it once more. My dad’s good humor simply seeps from the words. I giggle and put it down on my dresser. Even if I do feel slightly abandoned by my family, unable to say goodbye, I feel glad that they’re gone. Maybe someone has mercy on me. At least I didn’t have to face them after my gigantic failure.  
It’s slightly odd how I feel right now. It’s this sort of weightlessness that lifts me on my toes, yet there is certain heaviness in the pit of my stomach that won’t allow me to forget yesterday. It feels amazing now that I’ve cried for once; it’s like years of hurt have finally lifted off my aching back. Yet something feels so different and I don’t think it’s the sudden change in weight.  
I look in the mirror to find a not-surprising image. My eyes are as puffy as tennis balls with a redness to match. My hair has resorted to frizzing since my curls have been so dry for the past few days. There’s a few other unpleasant things, an occasional sniff, and I’m settled to go and wash off in the bathroom.  
Unfortunately, when I reach the bottom of the steps I find Scorpius sitting on the couch. He doesn’t seem to be up to anything except staring at the ceiling in a nonchalant manner. It irks me how easily relaxation comes to him. I suppose he could always be faking, but he seems too comfortable to be pretending.  
“You sleep like a zombie,” he says, without looking up at me. This, too, annoys me.  
“And you act like an ass,” I respond.  
He smiles and looks at me. I flinch away, willing him not to see my horrid condition, hoping that he’s too far away to look close enough. His smile turns to a gloating smirk. I know he’s thrilled to see me in such a horrid condition, but there is something hidden in his eyes. It’s something I’ve seen in my own in the past: he looks like he’s lost something.  
“Well, what a surprise. Not only do you sleep like a zombie, you also look like one.”  
I choose to ignore this. “Shut it, Malfoy.”  
“Why should I? It’s only the truth.”  
I could punch him, but I opt to merely squint at him instead. “You don’t look too great yourself. Late night of partying?”  
“Everyone wanted to celebrate _my_ victory, I suppose.”  
I don’t have a response for this. I try to convince myself that no one cares that Scorpius won. But he’s immensely popular among the Slytherin crowd.  
I turn and stalk up the stairs. His expression irks at me. I can’t figure out why he would look like he lost an entire competition, when really he’s just won. Unless he’s figured it out….unless he knows that I’ve been pretending, too, and that he can’t win when both of us realize the other’s game.  
That’s when I remember. I stumble slightly on the steps, realizing with unhinging force that the knot in my stomach is slowly unwinding itself. I can no longer like Scorpius. I can no longer even pretend, because trying to win over him is too dangerous for me. I can’t risk falling for him while trying to lure him in.   
As I turn on the faucets, I remember what kissing him felt like. I remember I warned myself that I had to keep my emotions in check. I tried. Oh Merlin, how I tried. But the truth is that it’s all too real to try and pretend. Pretending just leads to a giant slap in the face from reality, and that’s not what I want. It blurs the line of what’s real and what’s fake, to the point where I don’t even know the truth anymore.   
I strip off my clothes and prepare to dive. Agonizingly unrealistic, I know that I want Scorpius. I want to kiss him, and I want it to be _real._ I want the passion I feel to be felt in return. I want him so badly it hurts, yet I can no longer even pretend to have him.  
Under the water it is boiling hot, wiping my brain of thoughts. The bubbles tickle my bare skin as I swim to the bottom. Under here, I feel a part of home that my dad had given me last night. If anything, the past day has been a revelation. My dad knew it, I knew it, and now I remember it.  
What I want more than anything in the world is to win this competition. The _real_ competition.   
_What is a defining moment, really? Is it that point where you finally realize the truth? If it is, I don’t quite understand my defining moment. If I realize that the truth is I’m completely fascinated by this boy, by his sleek hair and words, by the passion hidden in his eyes, even the scent that mingles in the empty air. If that’s the truth, then why do I feel like it’s hidden behind something? I am fascinated by this boy…what else can there be? I was set on pretending to love him. It was all a lie, none of the truth, because I could never love him. Winning is too important for that risk; being a success in life means no Scorpius at all. And however I reason it, I’m not sure…. Are you? Deep inside I feel that the world of my future belongs in the success of the tournament, but I know it’s all just empty. But it’s winning. It’s winning something that no one in my family has before, and I will outshine them if I do win. I have to win. I have to._  
XX  
The knock comes at exactly one a.m.  
I am so asleep I barely even register that there is a knock in the first place. There are three knocks, and I think I’m dreaming. Then, there are three more, and I don’t know where they’re coming from. Then three more, and I know I have to leave the warmth of my bed. I drearily open my eyes, feeling like I’m peeling my eyelids back by force, and get out of bed. I have on flannel pajama pants and a long red shirt. Whoever’s at the portrait hole, I hope they don’t expect formal attire.  
I nearly fall down the stairs, my legs feel so heavy. All I realize is that the fire is barely a few embers in the hearth; it’s the only light guiding my way, and I wish I had more. My barely open eyes take awhile to adjust to the darkness.  
I have a fleeting fear of who might be at the portrait hole. It could be a late night visitor for Scorpius….. Maybe even a girl, coming to congratulate Scorpius on his victory. The image scares me so much I stumble a little on the rug, nearly falling to the hard floor.  
I make it to the portrait hole just as the final three knocks resound. I’m amazed Scorpius hasn’t woken up yet, the knocks are so loud, and I almost have to cover my ears. The portrait hole swings open, and standing there, a bouquet of red roses in hand, and an unearthly smile on his face, is—  
“Lorcan!” I say in surprise. For once it doesn’t look like he’s wandered here by accident. It’s almost eerie, seeing him here, with flowers that stand out brightly in the darkness.  
“Hi, Rose,” he says. “I wanted to congratulate you….. And make sure you were okay.”  
“For what? For losing?” I say groggily, purposely ignoring his second statement. I rub my eyes wearily, my surprise ebbing, and my tiredness coming back fast.   
“No,” he says seriously. “For trying.” Then, he adds, still serious, “Nice pajamas.”  
“I didn’t even win my own house’s task. That’s not trying, it’s just losing.” Tears prickle in the corner of my eyes.  
Lorcan smiles warmly at me. He lights up my heart with just a smile. “See. I knew something was wrong.”  
I smile gratefully at him. “Lorcan,” I say lovingly, “you have no idea how much this means to me.”  
“Not at all.” He holds out the roses for me. “There’s thirteen of them.”  
I laugh like a bell chime. I remember, being only five, sitting under the stars with Lorcan and counting as many as we possibly could. When I was able to count five hundred, yet he was only able to count thirteen, we agreed that we would always stop at thirteen. Thirteen was our number; somewhere beyond the infatuation and romance of twelve, somewhere where lifelong friendship surpassed anything love could compare to. That was thirteen for us.   
I can’t help it. I run to him and hug him, burying my nose in his warm skin. It smells just like I remember him, even though I haven’t been this close to him since those summer nights spent under the stars. It’s just another piece of home that I’ve been craving so much this year. I don’t want to let go. I may miss this more than any other piece of home.  
“Let’s go inside,” I whisper. I am suddenly overwhelmed by the combination of weariness and the longing to be close to a piece of home. Lorcan picks me up and I wrap my legs around him, his strong arms holding me against him and legs moving beneath, my face still buried in his neck.   
He navigates incredibly well with the glowing embers creating such little light. I unwrap myself from his body and he lowers me onto the couch. I fold myself to the edge of the couch to make room for Lorcan, who lowers himself behind me, his muscular arm wrapping around my waist. The scene reminds me of the Christmases we spent together in front of the fire, at one of our homes, wrapped around each other, whispering and laughing all through the night. I will never stay awake tonight, but just knowing he’s here, caring for me when no one else did, calms me like nothing else can.  
“Lorcan?” I whisper. My eyes are already falling steadily downwards.  
“Yes, Rose?”  
“Sometimes I think you’re the only one who ever cares about me,” I say. “Thank you.”  
Somewhere, as if in a distant universe, I hear the small thump of footsteps. Lorcan’s arm ripples and tightens around me. Words are not needed to know his reassurance, but he say anyways, “I’m not the only one who cares, Rosie. Everyone loves you.”  
“I love you,” I say. I can no longer keep my eyes open….  
“I’ll always love you, Rose.”  
The last things I see are the thirteen red roses, set on the table, in a position so tragic and deforming, yet they look stronger and more vicarious than ever. I think, in one last grasp at thought, that home isn’t all I’m craving. It’s Lorcan. Maybe it should always be Lorcan.   
XX  
 **Ok, I would like to give a GIGANTIC hand and hug to Lida (Iforever1), my wonderful editor, who has continued to go above and beyond in editing and being a great fan. I couldn’t do this without her! I’d also like to give credit to her for adding in parts of the story. So, co-author and editor, thank you!  
** **Reviews make my day, so please review!  
** **Chloe** ****  



	9. Chapter Nine

  
The morning comes slowly, yet it feels like only a few moments before it all hits me. Today somehow seems so new, so raw, that I hardly feel like myself. Something is bubbling in my chest, like excitement or nervousness, and it feels foreign. I lay here for a moment. Just watching. Just drowning.  
It takes me a moment to remember where I fell asleep; in Lorcan’s arms, downstairs, on the couch. The memory makes me smile in comfort. It feels almost distant. He must have brought me up here in the early morning. I can picture him easily lifting me and carrying me up the steps, his large legs and arms holding me with ease.  
The light spills into the room like a froth of gold, illuminating the pale gold of the room, and drawing out the red from the corners. I always thought sunrise was more beautiful than sunset, even though I’ve only seen a few sunrises myself. From Hogwarts it is so incredible. The sun shimmers on the lake and ripples the trees with orange light. The sun seems so huge in the sky. I cannot imagine the world turning around it. We seem to be the center, don’t we? It all belongs to our world. It all belongs to us.  
I can feel the warmth filling my pores. It feels incredible, like a bath, yet I feel nothing but the comforting weight of the bed sheets and the glowing sunrise. It warms my very soul, if you can take that without it seeming corny as hell. I smile to myself.  
First sign of madness: laughing at your own corny jokes.  
I get out of bed. I am surprisingly ready for today, ready to take it all on, and I feel as if I could take on the world. I feel incredible for some reason. I wash my face magically, brush my hair and swirl it a few extra times, and even curl my eyelashes around my wand. I slip into my uniform with caution. What’s changed me? As of yesterday, I felt completely lost. Suddenly I feel found.  
Maybe it was my father, whom I cried into and who brought me close to home. Maybe it was the warm bath, the water, the delicious weightlessness that felt like home. Maybe it was Lorcan, his warm breath and soft neck, who reminded me of everything I loved at home, and everything I love about him. I feel like a one of those egotistic girls I’ve always despised as I descend the stairs. Even Scorpius’s sneering face cannot faze me. It’s all over, and suddenly it’s all begun. I feel on top of even _him._  
The first thing I see is Scorpius; I’ve descended so quietly he hasn’t even noticed me. He’s sitting on the couch, leaning on the coffee table, and fingering the thirteen roses that were left on the coffee table. My roses. It feels like he’s defiled something inside of me, seeing him touch those roses. I hope he thinks I’m in love with Lorcan. Maybe he’ll get the punch in the gut I’ve been longing to give him myself.  
“Tired of feeling like a loser yet?” he asks. He turns around. I glare at the single red petal in his hand.  
What is he playing at _now?_ I almost feel exasperated, as if he is a child willing me to play silly games with him. Maybe he’s finally figured out that I didn’t want to play anymore. Maybe he’s just jealous of Lorcan. Either way, he’s no longer trying to lure me to him. He’s as rude and self-important as ever.  
“No one gives a damn that you won, Malfoy,” I say. Despite my resolve to stay calm, there is something about this boy that just unnerves me. No one can keep a happy face on around _him._  
 _“_ Yes, but _I_ do,” he says, his face sneering. He’s standing by the couch, leaning nonchalant like against it. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I’m sure he’s been terrified at some point, possibly even intimidated. No one can be that obliviously narcissistic.  
“Of course you do. You’re just too stupid to see that no one else does.”  
He smiles at me. It’s not one of those smirks that so many people often display. Although he does smirk (frequently), this grin is softer. It has a way of being completely hot headed and lovely at the same time. It’s one of those ‘I-have-a-secret-and-I-won’t-tell’ kind of smiles. Despite my resolve, it makes my heart flutter in my chest.  
“How about I walk with you to breakfast?” he says. Catching my surprised eyes, he quickly adds, “I want to prove how wrong you are.”  
“Of course you do,” I say, and perhaps there’s a bit of sadness in my voice. He couldn’t just want to walk me to the Great Hall just to _be_ with me? Of course not. This is Malfoy we’re talking about.  
He holds out his arm to me. I am still on the last step of the staircase, higher than him, better than him. I tell myself this when I grab it. There is a voice in the back of my mind screaming that I had promised not to do this. But it wouldn’t hurt for him just to walk me, would it? He’s being a gentleman. And ladies don’t reject gentlemen.  
On the way to the Great Hall we don’t speak. Maybe it’s just a calm morning air that’s settled between us, but the silence doesn’t feel wrong or too polite like the other moments between us. It feels almost like acceptance. I suppose we’ve both accepted defeat here. We can finally focus on the real tournament.  
“Be ready to be shocked, Weasley,” he says. I only smile politely. There’s no way people will care as much as he’s exaggerating; perhaps the Slytherins will scream, but no one else will.  
As the doors of the Hall open, I find my breath leaving me. The whole hall has turned its faces towards us, as if waiting for us….. But no. It’s not me they’re waiting for. It’s _him._ I feel so sickened by the whole thing, as the crowd bursts into applause, that I drop Scorpius’s arm and leave to my table. Thankfully the Gryffindor table has enough dignity to refrain from cheering.  
I look back at Scorpius as I take my seat between Pamela and Caroline. Al is seated across from me and follows my death glare. Scorpius looks so proud I could vomit. His eyes flitter over to me momentarily, and it’s so quick I have no time to get rid of my envious eyes and put on a kind smile. Al laughs at me.  
I switch my glare over to him instead. His hair looks particularly messed up today. “What’s with your hair?”  
“What’s with your new boyfriend?” His grin is prize-worthy.  
“He’s not my boyfriend, you idiot,” I reply. I try to keep the denial out of my voice, possibly failing.  
“Well he walked you here and practically cried when you stomped off. That looks like romance to me.”  
I glare his way. Al can be impossible sometimes.  
“Well, I suppose you could have chosen worse,” Lorcan says. I didn’t notice him seated next to Al, as his blonde head was turned in conversation with Yuri, a pretty Asian girl in my Arithmacy class.  
Al looks outraged. “She couldn’t have chosen much lower than Scorpius!”  
“She could have chosen Dreg Goyle,” Lorcan says airily. I smile gratefully at him.  
“Yes, thank you Lorcan. You see? I could have ch—“  
“Yes, but you wouldn’t choose him, Rose,” Al points out. “He’s about as attractive as a rock.”  
“Oh, so Scorpius is more attractive than a rock?” I snap. “What, is he considered a hairy beast, then?”  
Al looks thoughtful as he says, “No, not really. He’s more of a poisonous bug _beneath_ the rock.”  
I laugh loudly, sardonically, singing my displeasure. But I smile at Albus anyways, if only because of his painful immaturity.   
 “Well, we aren’t dating. And I’ll be sure to let you know when we are,” I say. I shove a plateful of eggs before me but I’m not really hungry. I spoon a couple of bites into my mouth before I’m once again I stop to think.  
“Rosie,” Caroline says, “you have to eat. You are a champion, after all!”  
She smiles sickeningly sweet at me. I suppose I’m not just angry about Al and Scorpius, but about the tournament, too. While I don’t really mind that I lost it bugs me that no one has even congratulated me on _trying._ A bunch of kids in the younger years have come up and shook my hand. Yet not one of my friends, besides a singing congratulatory card from Pamela, and Lorcan’s late night visit, have said a thing. Maybe they’re just disappointed I didn’t win for Gryffindor….  
The thought fills me with sadness. The anger ebbs away slowly, and I am overcome with a sense of foreignness towards my friends. Maybe it’s just my crazy hormones, but I don’t really feel like being near these unappreciative people.  
I turn to Pamela, who is currently staring off into space, and poke her in the shoulder. When she looks at me I know she knows something’s wrong, because her arched eyebrows go into her hairline. I smile sadly at her. “Can we go to the library before class? I need some time to study.” This, of course, being a blatant lie. But Pamela knows it and she immediately gets up to leave with me.  
I turn to Caroline and Lorcan, ignoring Al’s eyes. “I’ll see you guys in class.”  
Lorcan nods and smiles, but Caroline perks up slightly. “Are you going to the library?”  
“Yeah,” I say, hesitating. I don’t want to flat out tell her she can’t come, but I really prefer to talk to Pamela. “Pamela and I have some Arithmacy homework we need to finish. You’d be bored.”  
I smile at her, but I think she got the message even before she asked. She might just have wanted to be sure she was right. Thankfully she doesn’t look upset, and she turns back to talk to Al and Lorcan with a wink at me. I may not be sensitive or any of that crap, but it hurts more than anything when my friends are hurt. Except today. Al looks forlorn as I turn away, but I could care less right now.  
Pamela and I walk up to the library in silence. I stare at her long dark hair as we walk up the stairs. I always thought she was the prettiest girl in school, but she hasn’t even had a boyfriend yet, much to my protest. She has golden eyes that are framed by long, arched eyebrows and high cheekbones. Her hair is thick and falls to her waist, never tangled, never messy. She is almost perfect in looks, and I think she’s probably perfect all around, too.  
“Did I ever tell you that you are the best friend in the world?” I say. My voice lowers as we enter the library, books flying magically from shelf to shelf, the whole place looking older and wearier than any part of Hogwarts. I inhale the scent of old parchment as we enter. It’s so familiar to me, it almost smells like home.  
“Once or twice, yes,” she says. Her smile is radiant. I don’t know why, but Pamela has always loved praise.  
“Seriously, Pam,” I say with enthuse, “when no one else cares, you do. That singing card really made my day.”  
“I can’t believe no one congratulated you today.” There is real disbelief in her voice. Truth, as always.  
“Yeah, I know.” We take a seat at our special table in the back, by the only window in the library. The morning light is still streaming through the dusty window pane. I sit with my back to it, the sunlight warming my body lightly. I smile, despite my words.  
“You were great, Rose, really. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t win. There are still three more tasks ahead.”  
“So I’ve been told.”  
“And besides,” she says, and smiles widely, “when you win Slytherin’s task, no one will be laughing then.”  
I laugh with her. I can’t imagine the look of incredulity on Scorpius’s face if I won Slytherin’s tasks. But I suppose he won over me in Gryffindor’s, and I accepted that. He’ll just have to face it that I’m better than him.  
We talk gossip for a while. Gossip for us is not about other people; we don’t tend to concern ourselves with other’s private life. Pamela tells me that Evan Longbottom talked to her today. He’s the only boy she’s actually ever been interested in, that I can remember. I tell her for the millionth time that there is no way Evan could say no if she asked him out. I know for a fact that he’s had his eyes on Pamela since _first_ year. Pamela, though, believes in old fashioned ways. Unfortunately for her, no boy in his right mind has had the confidence to ask her out. I tell a lot of them that she’s really quite kind and mild, but of course they don’t believe me.  
“Well, there’s supposed to be a ball coming up after the second task,” she says. I look in shock at her. A ball?  
“Like, boys and girls, dancing, dresses, music...?” I trail off, completely lost on the subject. So my suspicions were correct; the gold gown in my trunk wasn’t just for taking a stroll in the garden.  
“Yeah. I hope Evan asks me….. I already have a dress to wear. It’s….short.” A rare blush creeps up her neck and I laugh.  
“My mom bought me a dress, too, except it glitters. I don’t wear things that _glitter.”_  
“Well, you can always buy another one.”  
“And disappoint my mother? She’ll probably be there with the Daily Prophet to get photos of me in that dress. I’ll bet she paid a good fifty galleons for it.”  
“Well, glitter never hurt anyone. Except for maybe you, but you can always cure allergies.” We both laugh until Madam Pince shushes us loudly.  
We sit in silence for a while. The heat on my back slowly grows, glowing and radiating onto my skin. It feels wonderful, just like this morning, when I had made promises I’ve already broken…..  
“So what about you and Scorpius?” Pamela asks. To me it seems out of the blue, but I suppose it was expected.  
I hesitate for what seems like hours. I want nothing more than to tell Pamela everything....  She’s never kept anything from me, and here I am keeping one of the biggest secrets of my life from her. It doesn’t seem fair. “I….I don’t really know.”  
It seems so lame to me, but I suppose Pamela knows I don’t want to talk about it. “Oh,” is all she says.  
“Wait,” I say. “I do know. I want to tell you everything.”  
And suddenly I’m _telling_ her everything. About the air of tension between Scorpius and I for the past six years; about the driving competitive force between us; about this year, how sharing the Head dorm seemed like fate to me; about the tournament, and my decision to win over my one true competitor by making love be his weakness; about the too-real moment shared in the bathroom; about our horrible fight; the previous task, what I saw in the mirror, and what I’ve resolved to do. Pamela listens to the whole thing, and even when the signal to go to first class sounds, she ignores it. We can be late. This is important.  
When I’m done with it all, we both take deep breaths. I’m eager to hear her words. Something about speaking everything out loud has an air of finality about it. Hearing the response to those words will be making me accept them.  
“Rose, to me it sounds like you’re trying not to disappoint your family. Loving Scorpius would do that, sure, but you really need to find your own path.” I stare at her blankly for a while, stunned by her words of wisdom. Pamela rarely does anything but agree with me.  
“I don’t think that’s true,” I say. “I just can’t love him because he’s a danger to me this year.”  
“But why is he a danger to you in the first place?” Pamela asks. “Because you want to win the tournament, right?”  
I nod, not seeing where she’s going.  
She sighs deeply. “Rose, I can’t really help you much with this. But let me give you this one piece of advice: follow your heart.”  
The seriousness of the topic vanishes when I smile. She smiles back, and we gossip about the details of Scorpius and I. I feel on top of the world as we finally make our way to Arithmacy together. Maybe my resolution wasn’t made this morning. It was finally having someone to cry on with them knowing the truth of my tears; finally being able to share what’s been so oppressive for so long; finally having it lifted. This time, I’m sure the weight is gone. It may return again, but at least I have someone to share it with.  
   
 _That night I dream of ball gowns and oval dance floors and glitter. There is a glorious stage that belongs to only me. Pamela watches on the floor, dashing Evan holding her delicate hand, her red dress making her sparkle without a single inch of glitter. I may be dancing with Scorpius or dancing with a nameless man, but I’m only aware that I’m dancing. No one judges. No one cares. My dress isn’t even that glorious, but I am radiant as the sun._  
  
 _XX  
_ __

 

**Thank you to my reviewers and to Lida (Iforever1) who are both incredible and….well, a lot of adjectives.**  
**Chloe  
** ****

 


	10. Chapter Ten

  
**I apologize for the long wait! I was gone all week long, for one thing. And my wonderful editing staff is currently down, so I was biting my nails over this chapter. I deeply apologize again if there are a lot of mistakes! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!  
** ****

 

******XX**   


 

 

The months in between October and December seem too short for me. We are alerted only a week after the first task that the second one will be on the first of December. To me it seems that they are already pressuring us to figure out the future task. But what is there to do to prepare besides worry and wait? I do a lot of both.  
Lessons get harder and harder every day. It seems the professors are determined to stuff our brains as full as possible before the winter break. In Transfiguration we continue to study the animal-human transformations, all of us becoming increasingly wary about the whole thing. Professor Haas has shown us the spell it takes to transform, but she has yet to teach it to us, deeming us not yet ready for such important information. Arithmacy is where the biggest work load lays, Professor Huggins assigning at least a foot essay each night, otherwise at least fifty individual problems. Muggle Studies, despite being the easiest class I’ve taken, goes into many of the things I haven’t already learned about muggles, when otherwise I knew just about everything Professor Woldells taught the class. Now we’re learning things such as the mythological Muggle figures and the Muggle world’s basic knowledge of the wizarding world; before that, I’d always thought that Muggles were oblivious but just made up fairy tales. Now, apparently, the wizards were unable to wipe the memory of individuals completely clean before the Muggle had time to write down what they saw.  
I look forward to Christmas break, mainly because I will be staying at Hogwarts. Christmas at Hogwarts is always a very rare and wonderful thing. Just relaxing in a place meant for studying has some sort of effect on me. Al, Lorcan, Lily and Hugo are usually my only company over the Holidays. _This_ year, much to my chagrin, almost everyone is staying for the break. Just because of the stupid _ball._ Christmas almost seems less appealing after hearing this news.  
Scorpius and I grow ever more distant over the two months. I rarely see him anywhere except for in classes; it’s as if I’m not even living with him anymore. This doesn’t bother me, really. I should be happy that we can finally be true enemies. I had been terrified that he would eventually be my downfall after what I saw in the mirror. He really was my true desire, and he knew that. Keeping my distance is the best thing I could do. But I can’t help but feel that Scorpius keeping his distance from me might be because he’s planning something….  
Thankfully, Al remains supportive, despite not once bringing up the first task. Many people make fun of me, mostly Slytherins, and Al at least defends me. If that’s all the recognition that he even c _ares_ about it, I’ll take it.  
Pamela and I don’t bring up the subject of Scorpius often, since there really isn’t much to talk about in the first place. She still looks at Evan Longbottom with longing eyes; I still tell her that it will happen eventually. It seems the wizarding world around us is fading to simple social problems, yet growing ever stronger in the preparation for setting us up for our career. Since I’ll be working as an Unspeakable, I’m sure, magic should be my main priority in my last year at Hogwarts. But oddly, it’s not.  
Lorcan is the only one I really allow myself time to be with. His carefree face always makes me cheerful and alleviates stress I’m feeling. When most of the time my only company is a quill and parchment, it’s nice to have a living, breathing figure with me, even if we only exchange a few words.  
   
XX  
It’s simply amazing to me how little time runs by between the two tasks. All I really want is for Christmas break to come and leave me in a peaceful blanket of snow. Usually the white powder is always calming; this year, despite the heavy blanket of it, I feel no calmer when it settles. It’s all just white noise in my ears and eyes. It seems the closer I get to the first, the more everything turns to white noise.  
And now the task is only a week away.  
“Oh, Rose!” Margery calls to me on the way out of the Great Hall. I recognize her breathless voice, even though her features blend in with the very walls. Lorcan and I both turn and smile at her. Or, at least I do. Lorcan just stares airily into her forehead.  
“Hi, Marge,” I say. It has always been her preferred nickname, although I always thought that her full name was prettier.  
“Um…,” she begins. She’s staring at Lorcan with fascination, like most girls do. He is probably one of the most handsome boys in the school, although I never really notice it myself. “Uh—the Professor—Professor Haas—wanted me to tell the champions to meet in her classroom at six tonight.”  
“Why didn’t you call my name when you ran up here?” Lorcan asks unexpectedly. I laugh a little, but stop once I see the horrified expression on Marge’s face. Obviously she didn’t think it was funny.  
“I—I didn’t see you.” Those four words, and she’s off. Her muddy brown hair immediately blends in with the crowd. It must be nice, being able to go invisible at a moment’s notice. Even though I get an invisibility cloak for one week a month (shared between Hugo, Lily, Al, and me, courtesy of Uncle Harry), it’s hard to disguise my fire-red hair in a crowd.  
“She’s an odd girl,” Lorcan says.  
“You’re an odd boy,” I say jokingly.  
“Yes, well, we figured that out long ago.” He waves his hand brusquely. “But I always thought she was very normal.”  
“She’s just intimidated,” I say, “because you’re so incredibly good looking.”  
“Well, sure,” he says, “but that’s no reason to run off.”  
We arrive at the tallest tower in the castle. Professor Zenobia and six other students are waiting for us, including Scorpius, silvery in the moonlight cascading directly into the stone circle. The night is cool and calming. Most student quit astronomy in their fifth year, but I found it almost intoxicating to be out in the night, led by starlight and the illuminating telescopes. It was more of a relaxation class than a true study session, although the star charts were frequent and tedious.  
Lorcan and I pair up at a telescope. I point it directly at the moon, studying the craters (as is our assignment) and the waxing cycle it’s currently in. It’s full tonight, gloriously silver and beautiful in the sky.  
“Oh dear,” Lorcan says suddenly, “I think Hagrid’s back from his ‘mission.’”  
I look down onto the silvery grass, and sure enough there is Hagrid’s hut, the lights gleaming and the chimney pouring smoke. Though I was not nearly as close to Hagrid as my mother and father had been, I still found him good company, and had gone to visit him the previous Saturday to talk to him about the task. He was one of the few people who could make me cheer up in a matter of minutes. He told me he was going on a mission to collect a few things for the second task; clearly he was back.  
“We should go see him after we meet with Professor Haas,” I say. Maybe he’ll give a hint as to what I’m facing, if Professor Haas doesn’t beat him to it.  
“Look what he’s doing!” Lorcan says loudly. I swing the telescope to his looming figure, hovering over the lake, and both Lorcan and I squeeze to look through the lens at what Hagrid may be doing.  
“It looks like he’s putting something in the lake,” I say. And it does. He’s holding something small in his hands, all of it silhouetted against the bright moonlight, placing it carefully into the water. It might just be a kelpie he’s decided to take under his wing. It wouldn’t be the first time.  
“Ooh, I do hope it’s another kelpie,” Lorcan says, as if reading my mind. I seem to remember the little water-dweller as anything but pleasant.  
“Let’s hope it isn’t.”  
“Well, we can ask him about it when we see him tonight.”  
“Oh, I’ve just remembered!” I say excitedly. “I have the invisibility cloak this week! We can use it to get down there after dark.”  
“Lovely! I love using that cloak,” Lorcan says, sounding as excited as I feel.  
We continue recording the moon’s state and craters. One of us will occasionally sneak glances at Hagrid, who begins to speak into the water, his bushy beard trembling as his lips move. Whatever it is that’s in that lake, I hope we find out tonight.  
   
Lorcan and I head to the Transfiguration classroom after Astrology. Scorpius is late, of course, but Anna is there, sitting on one of the desks looking shyly around. She smiles at Lorcan when we enter; of course, ignoring me entirely.  
“Good late-day to you two!” Professor Haas says from behind her desk. She looks slightly flustered, as if she’d been running around the castle recently.  
“Good evening,” I say back, Lorcan nodding his head in agreement next to me.  
“I wish we could start without Scorpius,” she says. “I’m so anxious to tell all of you I can hardly stand it.”  
As if on cue, the doors open again and in lumbers Scorpius, looking as if he’d just woken up and accidently wandered in. “Hello,” he says. Like Anna, he ignores me.  
“Late,” Professor Haas says happily, “or right on time, in your language.”  
Lorcan and I laugh, but everyone else remains somber. “Some people forgot to take their Cheering Charms this morning,” I whisper to Lorcan. He laughs throatily.  
“Well, let’s get to it then.” Professor Haas stands and pulls out from under her desk, of all things, a fish bowl. “So far in Transfiguration you’ve learned about human-animal transformations. If you did your homework right, you would know that there is more than one way to turn into an animal. Well, more than two, actually. An Animangus can turn at will, without a wand, and becomes an animal best reflecting his or her physical appearance.”  
For a moment, I remember the story of Peter Pettigrew, who looked like a rat, acted like a rat, and turned into a rat. When I was little, I thought it was a story. It was only later that I learned it was real.  
“The spell you will learn this year turns you into an animal reflecting your inner character, yata yata, you know these things. Well, I’m about to make you remember a spell you learned in fifth year, I think. It will turn you into any animal of your choosing for an hour at maximum. This spell is perfect for the second task, where you will be asked to turn into—“  
The Professor stops suddenly, points her cherry-wood wand at her head, flashes a brilliant smile, and then promptly turns into—  
“A _goldfish?”_ Scorpius asks, as outraged as I’m sure we all feel. “We have to turn into a _goldfish_ for this task? I think I might drop out.”  
The small fish swims around merrily in her glass bowl, doing a little show-flip for us, at which Scorpius scoffs. He points his wand at the bowl, silently sending a spell that causes the Professor to magically appear back where she stood, soaking wet and grinning like a mad woman.  
“Thank you, Scorpius,” she smiles. “It is ever so fun to be a fish.”  
I laugh, but I’m the only one. Everyone else looks partly paralyzed.  
“Oh, come on!” the Professor says. “You don’t have to turn into a _goldfish,_ for heaven’s sake. You can turn into any water-breathing animal you want. All you have to do is survive in the lake for an hour, long enough to find a single flower.”  
“Just a flower? What’s the point in that?” Anna asks. I agree.  
“It’s a very _special_ flower. It will reveal the solution to the fourth task, which is by far the most challenging.”  
“So, I can turn into a freshwater salmon?” Lorcan asks. I laugh, but he is quite serious.  
“Anything you wish,” the Professor says. “Rose could turn into an Asian Arowana, Anna a Bottlenose Dolphin. And in Scorpius’s case, he could turn into a Red Devil Piranha.”  
We all laugh hysterically. Even Scorpius grins, and sensing that the meeting is over, leaves promptly. Probably to go research fish breeds.  
“The lake has magical properties,” Professor Haas says as Lorcan and I turn to leave, “so it doesn’t matter if the fish is salt or freshwater. The lake supports them both.”  
Lorcan and I stroll down the empty hallways, our footsteps echoing against the walls. The castle is eerily silent. Better for our mission, I suppose. We make our way up to the Head Dorm quickly. When we arrive at the portrait, I hear Lorcan let out a small ‘oh’.  
“Didn’t you used to be horribly ugly?” Lorcan asks the portrait lady blatantly. She smiles evilly down at him.  
“I am still ugly, dear,” she says. “I will only be beautiful when my inner struggles are resolved.”  
She is still horribly ugly, but not as much as before. The excess hair has vanished from her face for the most part, leaving it soft and shiny. Her mole returned, though, and it has now sprouted a small hair that is visible from a distance.  
“Secret, dear?” she says. I don’t even have to think to know my answer.  
“Moles repulse me,” I say. She smiles and swings forward. It’s as if she feeds on even the smallest of secrets, I swear.  
Lorcan waits down in the common room while I run up to get the cloak. The material is cool between my fingers, and it will offer no protection against the outside air. I am reaching for my coat when a cool voice, cooler than even the material of invisibility, floats into the room.  
“Sneaking out?” Scorpius asks. He is standing in the doorway, clashing thoroughly with the bright gold and red of the room, looking thoroughly nonchalant. I fume at just the sight of him.  
“None of your business,” I say. He smirks evilly. He probably has a plan, or he wouldn’t be up here.  
“Well, it will be my business when you sneak off grounds and I have to report you,” he says. “You might lose your headship if you’re lucky.”  
“I could throttle you right now,” I say between clenched teeth. I feel like ripping him to shreds, he is so infuriating. Despite welcoming the revulsion between us, opposed to the polite silences, it doesn’t stop me from wanting him to die.  
“Please do,” he says kindly. “It would save me from having to look at your repugnant face.”  
I glare daggers at him. His hands are tucked into his jeans, back against the doorframe, as if he threatens people daily. “What do you want?”  
“I want to know about this task as much as you do.”  
“Well, I can’t help you there.”  
“Oh, but you can.”  
“What can I do?”  
“You can take me down to Hagrid’s with you. I’m sure he’ll reveal some lovely information to share.” I flinch at his words. He knows, and must have overheard us in Astronomy class.  
“Yeah, well you can’t come.”  
“Okay, then I’ll just report that you’ve left grounds with the freak downstairs.”  
I sigh desperately. There is no hope of getting out of this. I want to talk to Hagrid badly, but I can’t do it without Scorpius reporting foul play.  
“Don’t you dare be rude,” I threaten. He smirks and waits for me to grab my coat before following me downstairs.  
“We have an addition to the team,” I say to Lorcan. He’s sitting on the couch, and look up, his eyes falling on Scorpius.  
“Okay,” Lorcan says. I just want to hug him; he looks as if he was expecting it. I smile brightly at him, throw the cloak around us both and head for the portrait hole. I grudgingly allow Scorpius to join us under the cloak as we near the front doors of the castle. I know for a fact that this will be pure torture.  
The walk alone is almost unbearable. Being so used to being around Lorcan, I hardly notice him beside me. But Scorpius is a whole different thing. He smells so fresh and clean, it’s so amazing I can’t even describe it. His breath comes in warm white swirls of air. It tickles the back of my neck, sending tingles up my spine. How can I stay mad at him when I am so enamored with the emotions he’s evoking?  
Hagrid’s hut is lit. I can hear Fang barking as we approach, and before we even take to the steps, the door opens. Over the years, Hagrid has grown older. There is now a fair share of silver hairs in his bushy hair and beard, his eyes wrinkled, his hands rougher, his coat floppier. Age, if anything, has made him tougher. There has always been something indescribably kind in Hagrid’s eyes, but there’s also something that says he’s seen things, horrible things, that have scarred him.  
“Wha’ you lot doin’ here?” he asks. We’ve just thrown off the cloak, Hagrid eyeing Scorpius warily, Fang lolling about at our feet.  
“Just come to say hi to our favorite professor,” I say cheerily. I try a smile, but Hagrid frowns.  
“No’ that you’d come to any o’ my classes, you.” His voice is sad. I stopped taking Care of Magical Creatures in my fifth year. “Your parents were the same.”  
“We love your classes, Hagrid! We had to think of our future, and none of us were interested in being game keeper.” I smile sheepishly as Lorcan adds, “I still take your class.”  
“Thanks for the help,” I whisper in his ear.  
“An’ what’s with the Malfoy?” Hagrid asks. I’m grateful for the subject change, but this is fine ground to tread, too.  
“We, uh, decided to—“  
“We wanted to know about the first task,” Scorpius cuts in. I’m about to hit him, but stop when I see Hagrid’s face break out in a huge grin.  
“’Bout time someone asked!” And with that he pulls us, not into the warm cabin, but out to the freezing lake. He takes us to the spot Lorcan and I saw him crouching earlier. I am wary, if anything.  
“So, you’ll tell us, then?” Scorpius asks. He looks pleased with himself.  
“Wha’?” Hagrid looks around at us. “Oh, no, no, o’ course not.”  
He didn’t seem like he meant it, though. At the edge of the lake he tapped three times in the water. Ripples echoed in the water, going out further and further, and right when the first ripple reached the very far edge of the lake, a disturbance in the water made us all jump.  
In the water, right where Hagrid had tapped, was a mermaid. I had seen the mermaids in the lake before, only a few times, poking the Giant Squid with long spears. The mermaids I’d seen were scaly and green, quite ugly, with long tentacles for hair and wide, alien-like eyes. The mermaid before us was nothing close to the ugly creatures of Hogwart’s. She had long white hair that fanned out in the water and seemed to continue to the tip of her protruding tail. Her tail, slim and silver, reflected white in the moonlight. Her eyes were gray, old and weary, but they were beautiful. She was beautiful.  
“She won’ look like this, come the time when you lot’ll jump in the lake,” Hagrid said. His eyes were glued, not to the mermaid, but to the opposite side of the lake. “She’ll be pretty as can be.”  
I thought she was already pretty, though I didn’t say it. Weren’t we supposed to be looking for a flower, not a mermaid?  
Scorpius asked exactly that. I stared at the opposite side of the lake, trying to see what Hagrid was looking for, but only saw wave’s wash silver up on the pebble shore. The mermaid, most likely annoyed at the lack of attention, immersed herself under the water again. Hagrid stood up with us, walking us back towards his hut.  
“You be lookin’ for a flower,” he said, a grin on his face. “She’s a beautiful flower, too.”  
The mischievous smile remained on his face as he invited us in for tea and rock cakes. Scorpius, unknowing of Hagrid’s cooking, took one and bit into it. Lorcan and I both snorted into our tea when he chipped a tooth, and Hagrid claimed his pink umbrella wand wasn’t working when he set the temperature.  
Hagrid, Lorcan and I laughed pleasantly with each other, but Scorpius remained solemn. I was glad. Maybe he’d learn his lesson. It seemed he had come to the conclusion that it was stupid for him to come.  
Something told me that it wasn’t bad idea that we came.  
   
XX  
 **Reviews are welcome!  
** **Chloe**  



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